Morality
by Alkuna
Summary: Savari is a Khajiit with tragedy in her past, and in her near future. From the ashes, rises a hot-headed adventurer who will face many choices in her life. Not all of them will be as moral as some people would think. (Savari's story isn't entirely linear, and some game progress will be skipped to jump ahead to the next choice she makes.)
1. Loss And Beginnings

"Now here is a riddle to guess if you can  
Who is the monster and who is the man?"

-Clopin, Hunchback of Notre Dame

The first thing that struck Savari was the pain; her head felt as though someone had tried to use it as a chopping block for firewood. The second thing was the heat; her tongue felt as though it was stuck to the roof of her mouth and the sun was beating down on her.

Slowly she opened her eyes. The world was badly blurred and her head immediately began to spin. It took her three tries to get her arms into position beneath her, and twice that many times to stagger to her feet. It only got worse once she was upright, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to take stock.

She was an adolescent Khajiit, with fur black as an Elsweyr jungle night, and eyes that burned with cold, blue fire when angered. She and her parents were traveling Skyrim to buy and sell. Merchants…. She and her family were merchants...

Her stomach plummeted and she forced her eyes wide open despite the brightness of the sunlight. "Fado!" [Mother!] Savari cried, "Ahnurr!" [Father!] She looked around wildly.

It took less than a heartbeat to put together what had happened… Their cart was smashed, their horse was dead, and her parents lay in pools of blood. A humid breeze blew off of the hot springs nearby, stirring her mother's tail gently and causing her father's shirt to move slightly, giving them both the illusion of life.

But when she touched them in desperate hope, both were cold under their fur. Their eyes, once sparkling and full of life, were silvered in death. No longer would her father's smooth voice call out his wares. Never again would her mother jingle coins, wink at the young Khajiit and whisper that the three of them would soon build a trading post for travelers and hunters to come to visit.

Her head gave a painful throb and she winced, reaching back to delicately touch the back of her head. Her fingers encountered something warm and sticky: half dried blood. Someone had struck her on the head and left her where she had fallen, presuming her dead.

The stench of unwashed human still hung about the site, particularly around the cart. A painfully slow investigation revealed what Savari had already suspected… Bandits had struck, and stripped the cart of nearly everything. There was nothing left, save what her parents wore and a single, heavy chest that showed signs that the bandits had tried and failed to open it. It had been left behind as too heavy to cart off with the horse dead.

Grief washed through the Khajiit and she sank into the scant shade cast by the remains of the cart. She had no one, and virtually nothing save the clothes on her back and the dagger she carried to defend herself against wolves. She curled up into a ball and whimpered, grief and helplessness overwhelming the thirst that still parched her throat. She didn't know how long she huddled there, but a voice snapped her back to full alert.

"By the Nine, what in Oblivion 'appened 'ere?"

Her head jerked up and she found herself staring at an armored Dunmer, kneeling by Savari's mother and putting two fingers to her throat. His back was to her.

Silent as a Sabrecat, Savari rose to her feet, teeth bared. She drew her dagger. She didn't know who this man was or why he was manhandling the body of her mother and she didn't care. It was going to be the last thing he ever did.

She took a step, and her boot scuffed.

The Dunmer spun, hand on the hilt of an elven sword at his hip. The two stared at one another, muscles tense.

"Get away from my fado!" Savari snarled, "Haven't you done enough to her?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy! Slow down. I was just checking for her pulse." He held up his free hand in supplication, but she noted that the other remained firmly on the hilt of his sword.

"You won't find it. She's dead," Savari snapped, "My father too. Now, you renrij, you huna izra!"

"Hold it, hold it!" The Dunmer now held up both hands in a clear sign of both surrender and non hostility, "I'm sorry sera [madam], but I am not fluent in Ta'agra. Please calm down a little and try again.. In plain Cyrodilic, if you please."

Savari's tail slowly and reluctantly swung to the right in acknowledgement. She took several deep breaths and growled slowly and clearly, "I said, 'Now, you bandit, you back off!' "

"Ah." The Dunmer exhaled slowly and dropped his hands. "That makes a bit more sense. But m'fraid you got me all wrong, sera. I'm no bandit. I'm just a lone adventurer. I just 'appened upon this place by accident."

Savari stared into his eyes for a long moment, then slowly sheathed her dagger. "Wish you'd come a bit earlier then."

His mouth tightened and he looked sadly at her parents' bodies, "Wish I 'ad too, sera."

They were both silent for a moment, then the Dunmer looked a bit more closely at Savari. "You're swaying a bit in the breeze there, little one. Are you 'urt?"

"Hnnngh… They knocked me out; hit my head." Gingerly she touched the back of her head again. The blood had crusted and matted in her fur, and her head gave another throb in protest.

" 'ere. Drink this potion." To Savari's surprise, the Dunmer rummaged in his backpack and produced a vial of red liquid.

"I… I cannot. I have nothing. No money. Nothing to exchange." Savari shook her head in refusal, even as pain made her wince at the motion.

"Don't worry about it." The Dunmer popped the cork and pressed it gently into her hands, "It's pretty clear you need it."

Savari hesitated, then downed the potion. As the liquid poured down her throat, she felt it settle in her belly like a drop of warm sunshine. But rather than sitting there, it rapidly diffused through her, filling her with warmth that was entirely different from the sun. The pain in her head faded away, as did the burning thirst.

" 'Ere, drink another."

The Khajiit hesitated only briefly, then downed that potion too.

Her head immediately began to clear, and she felt strength beginning to flood through her body. She still had nothing, and no one, and she had no idea where to go to start her life over, but she no longer felt quite so helpless anymore either.

The Dunmer's kind red eyes were watching her face, and he smiled a little. "Looks like you're feelin' a bit better. Me name's Daryn, The Deft. I'm an adventurer, on me way to Kynesgrove for a bit of a rest after me last adventure."

"Savari," she returned. "Merchant's daughter." She swallowed another surge of grief, then narrowed her eyes coldly. "Tell me Daryn, are there any places where a bandit might hole up around here?"

" 'Round 'ere? No, sera." Daryn's eyes were kind and sympathetic, "The nearest place be a rundown bit o' fort called Mistwatch, and they be 'alf a day's walk from 'ere. But they aren't in the habit of killing, like. Prefer to capture rich looking folk and ransom them for a bit of gold. They be a right nuisance, but as I hear of it, they like their gold easy-like, without the bloodshed. They like their goods and valuables in good working order, see?" He glanced at the smashed carriage and dead horse and shook his head sadly. "M'fraid you got hit by a small, roving band. They'll 'ave 'eaded into the sunset with things they could carry."

Savari couldn't help but growl in frustration, tail lashing.

"Listen," Daryn said quietly, "Like I said, 'm going to Kynesgrove. I'm gonna pick up some rumors and see if there's somewhere I can explore. But I 'ave an offer for you. I can take you to a town and you can find a caravan to join… Or you can stay with me."

Savari turned slightly to give Daryn a sideways stare, "With you?"

He gave her a small smile, "Told ya, I'm an adventurer. If you're willing, I can teach you 'ow to survive in tombs and ruins. You can learn the skills necessary to make a fortune, and 'ow to live long enough to enjoy it. I could also use a partner… someone smarter than the average villager who can 'elp me get out of tight spots."

Savari looked at the bodies of her parents and felt tears prick her eyes. "I have nothing better to do..."

Daryn nodded, "Please excuse me if I seem a bit callous, sera, but I think we should take what we can." Daryn knelt by the chest and pulled out some lockpicks.

Savari looked away but nodded. Her parents wouldn't be needing anything from the chest.

The Dunmer soon pulled an iron mace out of the chest. "You never know what kind of fight you'll get into," he advised, handing the mace to her, "Always 'ave backup weapons. We'll get you a bow for ranged weaponry and some daggers for throwin' when we get to a proper town."

The young Khajiit nodded solemnly, and Daryn showed her a few fundamental strikes.

He paused then, and looked at Savari with a deep sadness in his eyes, "I am sorry, sera. I do not have a shovel. The ground here is too 'ard to bury them without the necessary tools, and we 'ave no way to transport their bodies to a place where they can be buried."

Savari swallowed hard, then nodded, "It.. it is all right. They are gone. They are… not here anymore. Nature will claim their empty shells. I am sorry… for what I said before. For calling you a bandit."

The Dunmer smiled kindly, "Forgiven. Let us go."

.

She spent five years with the Dunmer, learning and exploring. He taught her how to spot traps, how to trip them safely, and how to avoid the ones she couldn't trip. She learned how to make camp in secure places. He taught her how to scout an area and make sure it was safe before lying down to sleep.

"There's no greater gift to those you care about than giving them the power to protect themselves," he often quoted with a kind smile.

By the time she was an adult, she had learned nearly everything there was to know about adventuring. She was quick, agile, and not afraid to face danger with teeth and weapons bared. Her natural talent for seeing in dim light meant that she was soon spotting pressure plates before her mentor did, and deft hands soon sprang traps safely. Picking locks came as second nature to her, as did sneaking. As the daughter of a merchant, her knowledge of the value of objects came in handy, and she found them good prices when they went into town.

As for Daryn, he was calm, steady and skilled in magic. He taught Savari the use of the bow, and in the heat of battle, she never feared the whizzing of his arrows around her. What he aimed at, he hit, and even when the missile impacted close enough for her to feel the air moving, she never flinched. It was Daryn, more often than not, who patched the pair of them up during bad trips. And, bewilderingly, it was Daryn who ended up needing patching up far more than the Khajiit.

After Savari had long since lost count of the times she had to extract her mentor from a situation that he couldn't get himself out of, he wryly remarked that the Dumner race was said to be ill favored by fate.

"Me own favor in fate 'as been a bit dodgier than most." He told her with grim good humor. "Though they say 'aving a Khajiit's clever claws can make things easier on ye."

"In other words, you keep me around to try to mitigate a fate that seems to have taken a personal offense to your very existence," Savari teased, "I see how it is, ser.[sir] You get your pointy ears in trouble and I am the one who gets to haul them back out again."

He chuckled and gave one of her own ears a gentle tweak. "And don't think for a second that I am not grateful, sera," he retorted. "I would 'ave died many times over without you."

"As would I, without your teachings." Savari twitched her tail to the right.

"Let's just call it even, then."

"Ha, call it even if I can get a shot of Cyrodilic Brandy into my belly by tonight. After those Falmer, I need a bit of fire back in my veins." Savari put her hands on her lower back and arched backward, feeling -as well as hearing- her spine crack. "Nasty little beasts just about drove me into the ground."

"Fair enough, my girl. Fair enough." The Dunmer grinned at her.

Savari's cool blue eyes softened and she smiled back at him. She loved him, not as a husband, but as family. The pair were close as kin, and cared for one another as such. He had earned her trust, something she normally guarded with a jealousy to rival a Jarl and their most prized possessions.

Her parents weren't forgotten, of course. But he had taken her in when she had had nothing, and had given her healing potions for free, even when his own scars told the story of how often he got hurt in his line of work. He had not hesitated to extend a hand to help her, asking nothing in return. That level of kindness was virtually unheard of, especially in a hard land where everything had to be worked for with difficulty. The older she got, the luckier she realized she was to have met him.

The next morning, they would be leaving the cave they were adventuring in and head south past Darkwater Crossing before swinging east and then south to Shor's Stone to pick up rumors and to replenish their bags.

Hopefully they could avoid having to deal with any more trouble for a while.


	2. Imperial Injustice

Savari opened her eyes blearily, her head throbbing and her whole body aching. Slowly, she took stock of her surroundings and her situation. She was in a horse drawn cart, by the smell and the jostling, along with her mentor and several strangers.

Slowly it came back to her; Daryn and Savari had been walking along the road. As they approached Darkwater Crossing, they'd been caught in an ambush between Imperials and some rebels known as the Stormcloaks.

The adventurers had tried to back out of the skirmish, but had been swept up in it and thrown in with the captives. No amount of protesting or explaining had deterred the Imperial soldiers from putting the pair at swordpoint and trying to tie them up. One of them had smashed Daryn across the face with a gauntleted fist as he tried to insist that they were merely travelers, and Savari had leaped to his aid. By the feel of things, she had been given a hard blow to the head and then the Imperials had taken turns kicking her while she had been unconscious.

Divines curse it, she thought in disgust, That's the second time I've been knocked out by thugs!

"Savari? Are you alright?" Daryn asked quietly. A glance showed that the Dunmer's lip had been split, and though his helmet had protected his nose from being broken, an impressive looking bruise had taken up residence where he had been punched.

Savari's answer was a bad tempered growl. She was fairly sure that if she actually tried to use words, they would simply be a string of curses in Ta'agra and Dunmeri both.

Savari struggled to wriggle her fingers closer to the ropes that bound her wrists together. She had been stripped of all of her weapons, save her claws. But she was dexterous, and always knew that her last weapons were sharp.

If she could part the ropes they might have a chance… but progress was far slower than she would have liked. The ropes were new, and tough, and resisted her efforts. She fervently wished she dared bring her wrists up and put her teeth to work… but there was a soldier on horseback behind them, and any overt sign of trying to get free would put a crimp in their escape.

One of the men in the cart eventually explained that the man who was gagged to Daryn's right was one Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the rebels in the civil war. Another was an unfortunate thief thrown into the mix. As the cart drew into a town, Savari noted that the situation was very grim. She and her partner, and even the unlucky thief, were guilty by perceived association to a man considered a traitor to the Empire.

The captain clearly thought so, as she ordered the execution of everyone as soon as they arrived in the town, even though Savari and Daryn both weren't on the list.

Savari turned a pleading gaze to a man identified as General Tullius, but his eyes were all for Ulfric with cold loathing. The thief pleaded loudly that he wasn't a rebel. Tullius showed no interest, and the poor thief was shot in the back when he tried to flee.

"General Tullius, please, Daryn and I are merely adventurers. You have but to hold us for a short while and ask a few questions." Savari called. "If I am lying, then all that is wasted is a bit of time."

Tullius regarded her with cool disinterest, then told the captain, "Let's get this over with."

Horror, disbelief, then cold fury took turns in Savari's chest in the space of a few heartbeats.

"Sera, if the chance comes, you must get away." Daryn whispered urgently to her.

Savari's tail lashed to the left.

"I know that means you're refusing, girl," Daryn snapped softly, gesturing to her tail, "You must escape, whatever 'appens to me. Escape and find 'appiness."

"Daryn, I am not leaving you. I will fish us out of this. I always do." Savari gave a faint grunt of pain and managed to sink a single claw into the ropes. It was a start, but not enough. The impact of the headsman's axe through the first defiant prisoner's neck sent a jolt of fear through her.

"The Dark Elf is next!" barked the Captain.

Daryn gave her a very sad smile, "It's over, sera. I know it. Fate 'as always been chasing me… I guess it's finally caught up."

Savari panted desperately and yanked her wrists up to chew on the rope, no longer caring if they saw her, "No… Daryn…"

The Dunmer was seized by one of the soldiers and shoved savagely into a kneeling position, then shoved forward with a boot to the back. The impact of the headsman's axe dragged an agonized wail from the Khajiit's throat.

She was barely aware of being dragged forward and shoved into position with the same brutal efficiency.

Daryn! Mentor! Partner! Wait for me! Wait, do not go! I'm coming! I'll join you soon! Savari pleaded silently.

Savari's vision blurred as tears streamed through the fur of her face. She almost didn't hear the first inhuman roar that vibrated through the air.

The headsman's axe rose just as something massive and black landed with a crash on top of the stone guard tower. The red eyed monster bellowed something, causing the clouds to swirl, and fire to rain from the sky. The headsman was blown sideways, axe falling harmlessly into the dirt. Savari was hit by the blast as well, and blown clear of the chopping block.

From there, all was chaos.

Savari's training at Daryn's instruction kept her going. Even though her mind was hardly in a position to process anything, situations in the numerous dungeons and adventuring sites had drilled home that she must do what she must to keep moving and get somewhere to take stock of her situation. Grief and fear blurred her mind so that she could barely comprehend the appearance of Stormcloaks among the Imperials.

She fled into a tower with several Stormcloaks, only for the red-eyed horror to punch through the wall and engulf the stairwell in flames, missing Savari so narrowly that she could have sworn that the ends of her whiskers had puffed away to smoke in the flames.

When the beast pulled its head back and bellowed at the town guards and General Tullius, who were trying to shoot it down, Savari leaped through the newly made hole and into a partially destroyed building. Several frantic minutes of darting from one bit of cover to another and Savari found herself near the stone keep.

As an Imperial and a Stormcloak snarled insults at one another, Savari made a split second decision; something newly born deep within her drove her to follow the Stormcloak into the keep.

Ralof, the man's name was, and he cut her bindings entirely, though now they only held on by a few threads around her shock stilled hands. "That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends. The harbingers of the End Times. We need to get out of here, and we need to warn the Jarl."

She managed to drag herself into the present and seize a dagger and an axe from the body of a dead Stormcloak.

Ralof checked both sides of the room. One side was a barred metal gate leading farther into the keep. The other was a solid wooden portcullis with no way to open it from their side. Savari silently cursed the Imperials for stripping her of everything… including her lockpicks. With those, they could at least have gotten through the metal gate.

A sound from the other side of the wooden portcullis drove the pair to hide. The wooden barrier creaked slowly open, and a heartbeat later, the two figures wearing Imperial armor came through.

One of them was the Imperial Captain who had ordered Daryn's death. Savari saw red. Quick as thought, the Khajiit lashed out at the backs of the captain's knees, driving her viciously to the floor.

She was dimly aware of Ralof and the other soldier coming together in battle, but her eyes were all for the captain, who rolled with surprising speed and was able to stagger to her feet despite the pain, drawing her own sword.

"I knew it! Stormcloak traitor! Here is where you die. Take no prisoners!" she yelled to her soldier, who looked a bit too busy to care about prisoners anyway.

Savari parried the captain's sword. "No. We were never Stormcloaks. We were adventurers. Our greatest crime was that we walked into Darkwater Crossing at the wrong time."

"You were caught with Ulfric Stormcloak," the captain snarled.

"With whom we had never associated! Roads are walked on by everyone. You murdered an innocent man!" Savari scored a vicious cut to the captain's right shoulder, causing the blade to clatter to the floor from suddenly weakened fingers.

"Stab a man, and he'll keep coming. Take out his knee and he goes down… and stays down." Daryn's voice whispered at the back of Savari's mind, bringing with it the bittersweet memory of practicing with weapons in Kynesgrove. They would never share moments like that again.

Savari howled in grief and anger, even as she shifted her weight slightly and lashed out with her right leg. The ball of her foot connected solidly with the side of the captain's knee.

The Imperial screamed in agony as the blow took out her knee joint and sent her crashing to the floor. Savari's dagger flew like an arrow, straight and true, into the captain's throat.

She turned with a feral growl toward Ralof and the other Imperial soldier, planning to help the Stormcloak take down his enemy, but paused. He was standing over the other soldier's body, watching her with an expression of compassion.

"I'm sorry about your friend," he said quietly. "Daryn, was it? He did not deserve that."

The Khajiit made a wet rasping noise in her throat and looked away, whiskers drooping. She did not trust her voice, and from the bellowing of the dragon and the continued booms, talk was not the order of the day anyway. Grimly she retrieved her dagger from the dead captain's throat.

Ralof gave a tiny nod at her obvious unwillingness to reply, and said bracingly, "Come on. We need to get out of here. Check the bodies would you? There has to be a key that will unlock the gate."

Savari found the key within seconds and Ralof nodded in approval. "That's it! Come on, let's get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads."

The pair raced down the wide staircase beyond the gate, Savari clinging to the here-and-now by an effort of will.

There was a bellow and a loud cracking sound.

"Look out!" Savari seized Ralof's elbow and yanked him back as the cracking noise turned into a near deafening crash. The hallway just in front of them collapsed in a cloud of dust and a shower of massive pieces of fortress walls.

"You need to listen." Savari's voice cracked painfully, but she just coughed dust out of her throat and continued, "That cracking noise is the only warning you have before cave ins. "It's how Daryn… Daryn and I survived some of our adventures."

"Damn!" Ralof exclaimed. "Understood… No getting through that way. Come on, through here!"

He led Savari through an adjacent door into what looked like a barracks, where they fought a few more Imperials.

A dragon is literally punching holes in the walls of towers and their priorities are to stab the poor shlubs just trying to hide from the monster. They seriously need to sort out their priorities. Savari thought in disgust.

Down another set of stairs and the stench of blood and pain stung Savari's nose.

"Troll's blood! A torture room!" Ralof gasped.

There were a few bodies in the sturdy cages set in the room, and a masked torturer and his assistant turned to face them. Clearly the Imperials were experienced in extracting confessions through pain.

Something cold slithered through her. She had begged General Tullius to simply hold and question them. Would the man have simply taken them here, to be tortured until they confessed to what he wanted to hear, then executed them anyway? It was entirely possible. Those who used torture often didn't care about truth, just a confession to justify the later death.

Savari gathered her strength and lunged into the room, using her powerful leg muscles to pounce. She slammed into the assistant with her full weight behind the leap and the pair went down with the assistant beneath her. Savari felt several somethings give in the assistant's chest; a kind of wet snapping sound accompanying the man's gurgling cry of pain. Hot blood erupted from the man's mouth, even as her dagger found a second sheath in a second throat.

"You are a powerful and terrifying fighter, my friend," Ralof commented.

"I have plenty of experience." Her voice had gone calm and steady, probably helped by the fact that her mind felt numbed to the savage slaughter of every Imperial they were encountering. A part of her that was still clear and rational felt no remorse for the deaths of the men who still sought to murder her, even as the keep was being destroyed around them.

Their bodies provided her with her favored weapon: the bow; though the weapons were sub par to what she was used to wielding. Nevertheless, it was unlikely that she would ever get any of her things back… or Daryn's.

Pain stabbed through her again. Not one thing… not one scrap of Daryn's belongings, carrying his scent, would ever be retrieved. The roaring of fire and the dragon's foul stench on the wind from his wings ensured that anything not reduced to cinder or crushed beneath stone would still be soot stained and reeking of smoke.

They moved quickly, entering a set of rough hewn tunnels, fighting yet another patrol of Imperial soldiers before finally coming out of the tunnels and into fresh air. With a final bellow, the black dragon took to the skies and soared away into the distance.

"It looks like he's actually leaving now," Ralof commented. As they began their walk down the path, the Stormcloak added, "There's no way to know if anyone else made it out alive. But it doesn't matter. This place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon."

Savari's ears flattened, "You'll forgive me if I am not at all eager to try my luck with them a second time."

Ralof gave a kind of weak chuckle, that broke into a smoke induced cough. When he caught his breath again, he said, "You're right, of course. We need to be gone before that happens. My sister, Gerdur, runs the mill in Riverwood just up the road. I'm sure she'll be happy to help us both out."

The trip to Riverwood was almost pleasant and peaceful, with only a few wolves to challenge their progress. If Savari's mind hadn't been grief shocked, she would have enjoyed the brisk run.

Ralof's family welcomed the soul weary Khajiit without reservation and begged her to take word to the Jarl in Whiterun. Their town was defenseless against the predations of a dragon.

Savari agreed and the family generously offered her supplies to help her on her journey. But once everyone had gone to bed, she slipped out of the house and found a hidden place where she would not be observed. There she put her face in her hands and sobbed softly; her heart broken over the one she had lost.

Twice. She had lost her family twice.


	3. In My Time Of Need

Savari made her way back to Whiterun, her nerves frazzled. A dragon had attacked the Western Watchtower; not the same black beast that had destroyed Helgen, but that was a cold comfort on the back of the realization that there were more of them.

To put it bluntly, it had been a royal mess. Several guards were killed, and Savari got to witness the horror of the beast seizing a guard in its jaws and shaking him the way a hound shook a rat. The scream from the unlucky guard had been short, but the boneless way the poor man's body had hit the ground after the beast threw him aside was going to join her memories of Helgen in the Khajiit's nightmares.

The fight had been more grueling than any battle with the Falmer had ever been, and after she managed to kill the damn thing, she had absorbed some sort of power from it.

The guards had put up a fuss calling her "Dragonborn." Hearing voices shouting "Dovahkiin" from the top of a mountain with a crack of thunder was just the cherry on top of this entire day.

Her fur had been scorched or simply seared off in places. Burned fur did NOT smell good. She had been bitten at least once, and her armor would need to be checked to see if it was even still salvageable after absorbing a nasty sweep of the dragon's tail. Being thrown backward into the dirt came with its own set of painful bumps, bruises and nicks, not even counting the fact that the damn thing's tail had been tipped with a big, flat, bony rudder. Her entire midsection was going to be badly bruised.

Healing potions took care of physical injuries well enough, but she had never fought in battles without Daryn. And, as with the loss of her parents, healing potions could not touch the grief that still squeezed her heart. Every time she turned to say something to him, to call directions to him to help her with the beast, she was reminded yet again that he was gone, and would never return.

Savari was weary, aching throughout her entire body, and just plain emotionally **done** with everything. She just wanted a long, long rest as soon as she reported to Jarl Balgruuf.

As she entered the gates of the city, a bad feeling lodged in her chest. There were a bunch of Redguards being confronted by a very angry town guardsman.

"Look, you've already been told you're not allowed here. Turn around and go back the way you came." The guard was barring the way into the city with his arms crossed.

Another guard glanced briefly at Savari as she entered, then gestured her onward with a small jerk of his head. Well, that was a relief; she, at least, wasn't on the 'bad' list.

One of the Redguards replied, "We're causing no trouble. All we ask is to look for her."

The guard confronting them was immovable. "I don't care _**what**_ you're doing. After what happened, you're lucky I don't toss you in jail. Now get lost." By the sound of his voice, he was a whisker's width from beating the men down and dragging them to the dungeon anyway.

Savari rolled her eyes. The guards hadn't caused _her_ any trouble, other than warning her that they would be keeping an eye on her. Perfectly acceptable, given that there was talk of dragons and of Helgen being burned to the ground with few survivors. And they had been stern, but fair and casual toward her despite being a Khajiit.

If the Redguards were being denied entry to the city "after what happened," then these men were definitely troublemakers. Chances were good they got roaring drunk at the inn, or got into a fight, or did something else foolish. The guards of the city weren't overly friendly, as their jobs dictated, but they were real uptight about people who misbehaved.

"We will be back. This is not over," snapped the hooded Redguard, ignoring the guard's annoyed and dismissive wave. He spotted Savari walking past and spun around to confront her. "You there! We are looking for someone in Whiterun, and will pay good money for information."

 _Weren't you just told to get out?_ Savari thought, but she kept a leash on her tongue. Making an effort to at least pretend to be interested, Savari flicked an ear and asked, "Who are you looking for?"

"A woman - a foreigner in these lands. Redguard, like us. She is likely not using her true name. We will pay for any information regarding her location. We are not welcome here in Whiterun, so we will be in Rorikstead if you learn anything."

"Why are you looking for this person?" Savari asked, curiosity aroused.

The Redguard's face closed down and his tone became far less friendly. "It's none of your concern," he snapped coldly. "All you need to know is that we're paying for information. If that doesn't interest you, feel free to walk away."

A cross growl bubbled in Savari's throat as the men spun on their heels and left the city. Then she took off her battered helmet and ran a hand over her face. She needed sleep, and she needed to report to the Jarl. She didn't need this on her plate as well.

One of the more friendly guards approached her, "You look tired, friend. The Bannered Mare has beds for rent."

"That sounds perfect. Thank you." Savari turned toward Dragonsreach and began the long slog up the stairs to make her report.

Something was bothering her about the Redguard's behavior, but she felt too weary to chase it down right now.

.

The next morning, it was a very stiff and aching Khajiit who stirred out of bed. But her head was much clearer. They had refused to tell her what their quarry had done… if she was a hardened criminal, didn't it make more sense to say so?

Even sellswords worked best when they were informed, both of the dangers of the job and why they were seeking someone. While a mercenary of questionable morality might not care as long as the money was there, the better ones would be more likely to help out if they knew they were hunting a criminal. Savari preferred to be viewed as an adventurer, with at least some reputation of intelligence. That meant she didn't appreciate being sneeringly shut down when trying to gather information.

Her tail lashed to the left. No. Whoever these Redguards were, whoever they worked for, for whatever reason they were searching for this woman, something rang false about them. She had no interest in helping them in their hunt.

Savari left her room and took a seat by the fire in the main room with a muffled groan as her body protested even that movement.

Hulda, the innkeeper, looked up at the muffled groan, then called, "Saadia, wake up, dear!"

"Yes mum!" a Redguard woman replied, and hurried to Savari's side.

The Khajiit was startled to see that the poor woman looked as though she had gotten into a brawl with a Sabrecat at some point in her life: the left side of her face bore long, ragged looking scars tracing from her nose, across her cheek to her ear. Those could have only come from something with claws. The woman wore her hair so that they weren't fully visible, but Savari was used to looking for tiny differences in her line of work. They were faint, and had healed well, but they were very distinctive.

Nevertheless, the Redguard showed no fear of the Khajiit. With a kind voice and a welcoming smile, Saadia said, "Good morning sleepyhead. Can I get you anything?"

An ugly thought hit Savari, and her heart froze. This young woman couldn't be the one the Redguard were searching for, could she? The only other Redguard in town was Saffir, and she was married, and raising a child.

The Khajiit ordered some bread and cheese to go with a salmon steak and a bottle of mead to wash it down, which was brought over to her promptly. The bread steamed when Savari cut it open and the salmon was seasoned just right. Whoever she was, she was definitely a good cook.

Savari ate hungrily while mulling things over in her head. If Saadia was the woman the Redguards were looking for, it was best to let the poor woman know she was being hunted.

After she finished, she slipped unobtrusively into the kitchen and approached the woman. Savari wasn't one to mince words, so she spoke before the woman could offer any further pleasantries. "Did you know some Redguard warriors are looking for a Redguard woman?"

Saadia's eyes widened in panic, "Are you sure? Oh no! They found me? I need your help! Please come with me. I need to speak to you privately."

Blinking a few times at the woman's sudden request, the Khajiit nodded and followed the woman up a set of stairs and into a back room. Almost as soon as they were past the door, Saadia drew a dagger and turned to face the Khajiit, fear and desperation on her face.

"So, are you working with them? You think you can take me? You so much as touch me, and you're going to lose fingers."

Amusement and pity flashed through the Dragonborn. Saadia was trembling so hard that the weapon was swaying almost drunkenly through the air, and her grip on the dagger was awkward. "I mean it! I'll... I'll cut you in half!"

This woman had virtually no experience with a blade of any kind. She was definitely not a hardened criminal. Even as she tried to sound menacing, her words faltered. Her bluff was poorly executed. Savari suppressed a snort of laughter.

"So the Alik'r know where I am? What did they offer you? Gold? How many of them are coming? Tell me!" The woman took a trembling step forward.

 _Alik'r? Interesting name. I thought they were just Redguards._ Savari assessed the woman's stance. A mild smack on the woman's wrist would disarm her, and her unsteady posture would mean that almost no effort at all would allow Savari to pin her to the wall with an arm to her throat. She could, but she wouldn't; not unless the woman lost her head completely and did something foolish, anyway.

Couching her voice as gentle but firm as she could, Savari said, "Put that down before you hurt yourself." _It would be just my luck to have you hurt yourself trying to scare me away,_ the Khajiit thought wryly. _The way you handle that blade, you're far more likely to drop the knife into your own foot than to remove any of_ _ **my**_ _fingers._

Saadia hesitated, staring into the Khajiit's cool blue eyes, and then slowly put the dagger away. "I'm sorry, just... Just don't hurt me. I know you're not one of them, but you just can't help them. You can't let them know I'm here. Please, will you help me?" her voice turned pleading and desperate, "There's no one here I can trust."

This was the opening Savari had hoped for. She had no intention of making a decision without hearing the other side of the tale. Keeping her voice casual but interested, Savari replied, "Maybe. What do you want?"

"I am not the person that the people of Whiterun think I am. My real name is Iman. I am a noble of House Suda in Hammerfell."

Amusement flashed through Savari again. A noblewoman? No wonder her handling of the weapon was so terrible.

Saadia continued, "The men who are looking for me, the Alik'r, they are assassins in the employ of the Aldmeri Dominion. They wish to exchange my blood for gold. I need you to root them out and drive them away before they find me and drag me back to Hammerfell for an execution."

The Dragonborn leaned against the doorjamb thoughtfully. She had heard a lot about the Thalmor; that they had won the war with the Empire and were working to take control of every nation. The many stories she had heard were... not complementary, to put it mildly.

Her eyes rose to meet Saadia's, "How am I supposed to get rid of them?"

Saadia was slowly relaxing as they talked, her words coming more freely as the Khajiit showed that she was listening. "They're mercenaries, only in it for the money. They're led by a man named Kematu. Get rid of him, and the rest will scatter. I don't dare show my face, lest they recognize me, so you'll have to find out where they are."

Savari gave a slow nod and flicked her tail to the right. "Any suggestions as to how to find them?"

Saadia sagged in relief. "I heard one of them was just arrested trying to sneak into the city. If he's locked up in the jail, perhaps you can get it out of him."

This time the Khajiit didn't bother to hide the disgusted snort. They caused trouble, got kicked out, tried to walk back in and got told off by the guard. Then one of them got caught trying to get in by stealth and was tossed in jail like a thief. These so-called Alik'r weren't exactly the best, or the brightest, of the lot.

Misunderstanding the reason behind Savari's snort, Saadia pleaded, "Please, I know I'm asking you to do something difficult, maybe even dangerous. I just don't know who else I can trust."

Savari narrowed her eyes marginally and asked, "Why are the Alik'r after you?"

The Redguard woman sighed wearily and sat down on her bed. "I don't know for sure. I spoke out against the Aldmeri Dominion publicly; I suspect that's why these men were hired to hunt me down."

That was pretty well in line with the stories Savari had heard. The Altmer, or High Elves, had founded a branch of their government called the Thalmor. They were fanatics, deeply convinced of their own superiority, and had a taste for conquest, with an eye toward the High Elves holding all places of power. She had heard a lot of dark stories about how the Thalmor were prone to using torture, and how good they were about making "problems" go away… or disappear. They had a particular dislike for Talos worshippers and for anyone they couldn't simply intimidate into subservience. They weren't above dragging someone off in the middle of the night just on the mere rumor of Talos worship. Savari had no doubt that anyone who could potentially stir voices against them were… dealt with.

"I will do what I can," Savari promised, and turned away.

Her armor did need replacing after the skirmish with the dragon. A trip to Warmaiden's was the first stop of the day, and her purse was considerably lighter when she was gone. Adorned properly, the next stop was, of course, the jail. Having dealt with the cold attitude of the Alik'r at the gates, Savari wondered whether jail time would smarten this one up. Somehow she doubted it.

Talking her way into the dungeon was easy enough, though the man sneered at her when she approached his cell. That was a bad start.

Savari jumped right in, "I need to find Kematu. Where is he hiding?"

The man's sneer turned up a few notches, "You have a death wish then? If you know that name, you must know to meet him would be to meet your end." Then a crafty look crossed his features, and his voice turned oily and falsely friendly, "But it seems we both have needs, friend. Perhaps we can... help each other out."

Disgust twisted Savari's stomach. This man was one of the Alik'r? She shut down her expression until her blue eyes all but crackled with ice and tilted her head slightly, "What do you need?"

"I have dishonored my brothers by being captured, and so they have left me here. My life with the Alik'r is over now, but I have no wish to die in this gods-forsaken land. If I can be released from prison, I may start over. See to that, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

The Khajiit flicked an ear. _No longer Alik'r, but it seems he's very… representative of the group,_ she decided. "Why did they leave you here?"

"Because I was clumsy enough to be captured. Kematu always says we're supposed to be the best of the best. I wasn't."

 _Sounds like Kematu was blowing smoke into the wind,_ the Dragonborn huffed a laugh at the thought, _I have now met two of you directly, and from what I've heard from the guards, the lot of you are nothing but incompetent thugs and idiots. Still, it's clear that you have the information I need, so I had better play along._

"How much to pay your fine?" Savari's voice was as oily and falsely friendly as his own.

"One hundred gold will secure my release. You can afford that, can't you? I suppose you'd better hope you can, if you want the information." He sneered at her again, arrogance dancing in his eyes. "Get the money into the hands of one of these guards, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

What chafed was spending money on a lowlife such as him; far more than the actual cost. The guard sounded more relieved than anything as the money clinked into his hands.

"Kematu is west of Whiterun. It's an unassuming little cave called Swindler's Den." The prisoner's expression was one of satisfaction when she told him the money had been paid.

 _What a charming and… sophisticated sounding place._ Savari thought sarcastically, then wrinkled her nose. _Sounds like a real Skeeverhole._ As the man gave further directions, she realized that she would be following the roads only half of the way. Once she reached Fort Greymoor, the rest would be off the beaten path. It was tucked against the side of a small mountain, in the middle of nowhere.

The prisoner gave a snooty toss of his head. "You realize if you set foot in there, you're never coming back out. They'll kill you. But that's _**your**_ problem, not mine."

 _Arrogant? Check. Condescending? Check. Cares nothing for others? Double check. Casually cruel? Double check again. This man is very definitely not a professional who was on the trail of a criminal. Whatever story they're trying to sell, I already don't believe a word of it._ Her tail lashed left as she turned away from him.

The prisoner grabbed the bars of his cell and yelled, "Guard! My fine's been paid, now set me free!"

Savari actually turned back around halfway to the prison door. _No. He wouldn't. He really wouldn't be so stupid as to act like the guards were something to scrape off his boot, would he? He couldn't seriously be that stupid..._

But the guard who sauntered over, did so with the casual disdain of someone who had been listening to the man's attitude for quite a while. In an equally disdainful and dismissive voice, the guard replied, "Sorry, my ears aren't so good. You say somethin'?"

"I said my fine has been paid! Now let me out!" The former Alik'r sounded like royalty sniping orders at a lowly peasant.

"Right, right... Oh, look at that. I seem to have lost my keys. Might take me a while to find them. You just sit tight. I'll get around to it eventually."

"You are an idiot," Savari glowered at the Alik'r, "They have all the power over you, and you have nothing. A smart man would have at least pretended meekness until he was released."

Shaking her head, the Khajiit left the dungeon, the man's curses and yells echoing off the stone walls.

Savari took a deep breath of the outside air beyond the city. This is where she felt more at home; away from the crowds. Sometimes the chatter of city life took on a more sinister tone in Savari's own head… It didn't help that half the towns in Skyrim were populated by Imperial soldiers, who had been more than eager to spill the blood of an innocent Dunmer and his partner. It usually only lasted a second, but she was always more comfortable away from crowds, now more than ever.

The roads near town were patrolled, so the Khajiit didn't draw her weapon yet. But she kept alert as she walked the roads away from civilization. Wildlife would be more dangerous once she left the roads, but only a fool daydreamed, even within sight of the guards.

Much to Savari's surprise and disgust, there _**were**_ two Alik'r on the road between Whiterun and Fort Greymoor… and her opinion of them just wasn't improving as she approached.

"Listen, wench, we're onto you. We know who you are, so you'd better come with us right now!" snarled one Alik'r.

"I don't know who you think I am, and I don't care. Leave me alone!" The woman snapped. She was clearly tired of being harangued by the men. A glance showed that the poor woman was a farmer; her clothing practically screamed it. Her hair was drawn away from her face, so that it could clearly be seen.

"I don't have time for this foolishness. Now come along quietly and we won't have to get rough." The first Alik'r put his hand on the handle of his curved sword, fingering it meaningfully.

Savari's ears went back. They definitely had the wrong woman, and the Khajiit cast about for a way to interfere without giving away Saadia. She briefly wondered if simply killing the Alik'r where they stood would be better for everyone.

Fortunately, the second Alik'r stepped in as Savari drew level with them, "Brother, I think she's telling the truth..."

The woman's eyes never left the first Alik'r. "I'm not going anywhere. Now back off before I do something drastic."

The second Alik'r interjected again, "She doesn't have the scars."

The first Alik'r looked up sharply, and then raked his gaze over the poor woman's face, "What? Oh... you're right."

The second Alik'r tried to salvage their pride, none too gracefully. "We've made a mistake. Now move along before that mouth of yours gets you into trouble."

As the Khajiit covered her face with her hands in exasperation, the Redguard woman snapped, "Next time you're looking to pester someone, make sure it's the right person!"

They were looking for a woman with distinctive facial scars, and their plan of action was to go tromping around the countryside harassing every single Redguard woman in the entire country without even checking for identifying marks?!

 _What kind of dung brain is leading these people?! Am I really expected to take this man seriously? At all?_ Savari moaned to herself. _Is there anything, anything at all, about this group that says they aren't a pack of drooling trolls, tripping over their own feet?_

Finding Swindler's Den was easier than she expected, though she scouted the surrounding lands a bit. There was only a single bandit guard standing watch, and he was swiftly and silently put down by an arrow. She approached the cave entrance cautiously, but no one else made an appearance or showed any sign of being aware that she was nearby.

The bandits were all easily dispatched. Savari was well experienced with her bow, and with stealth. Most were still rising to their feet after watching their friend keel over, dead, when her next arrows felled them too. She cleared the cave and tunnels, then stepped carefully into a half flooded tunnel.

She didn't like this… The water was likely to hamper her movement, and she could be pinned and drowned if she wasn't careful. Keeping an arrow loose, Savari slowly moved along the tunnel. At the far end, a cascade of water obscured the exit.

Savari peered through the cascading water, and a man's voice rang out. "Alik'r, hold!"

Savari froze, cursing silently in Ta'agra and Dunmeri both.

The man's voice continued, "You're proven your strength, warrior. Let's avoid any more bloodshed. I think you and I have some things to talk about."

Savari hesitated, then slowly stepped through the falling water and climbed the wooden ramp onto a higher path. There were six Alik'r in the cave, and one man who could only be Kematu. All of them had their weapons drawn and were ready to spring into action.

"Stay your hand warrior! It's no secret why you're here, and you have proven your skill in combat. Let us talk a moment, and no one else needs to die." Kematu was… better… at pretending to sound friendly than the prisoner was, but there was still a lazy arrogance that Savari didn't like. He continued, "I think we can all profit from the situation in which we find ourselves. My men will not attack you, if you will lower your weapons."

 _Ah, of course. Because the clink of coin is all someone like me needs in life._ Savari's mouth tightened.

She could win if she attacked right now... probably... but it would be a hard fight. Perhaps she could get just a little bit more information out of them before things got sticky. She doubted there was much, if anything, Kematu could say to salvage her opinion of them, of him, or even persuade her that they were in the right. Still, information was valuable. She put her bow away.

At the top of the ramp, she noticed a narrow tunnel leading to another part of the caves. She made a mental note for that. If she could get there, she could fight the men one at a time should the conversation end poorly. She had a feeling it would.

Weaving her way through the Alik'r, who also slowly put their scimitars away, she approached Kematu. Direct as always, she asked, "Why are you after Saadia?"

Unlike his lackeys, Kematu answered her directly, "She sold the city out to the Aldmeri Dominion. Were it not for her betrayal, Taneth could have held its ground in the war. The other noble houses discovered her betrayal and she fled. They want her brought back alive. The resistance against the Dominion is alive and well in Hammerfell, and they want justice."

Savari's eyes narrowed in disbelief. _Is he actually trying to tell me that she's a traitor from a war that ended over twenty years ago? I am supposed to believe that an investigation from a devastated and bankrupt land simply wasted two decades with nothing to show for it, only to suddenly go haring off after some noblewoman?_

If these men were supposedly the 'best of the best' as the prisoner had claimed, they were failing at every point. Every ball they had been tossed, had been dropped. Every opportunity they'd had, they had bumbled it. Every move they had made, had been made with either no, or very poor, planning.

Cooly, she met Kematu's eyes, "I've been sent here to kill you." No pretty words, no beating around the bush; she was going for short and to the point.

To her surprise, Kematu smiled easily, and a little dismissively, "Of course, sent by... what is it she's calling herself these days? Shazra? Saadia? One of those, correct?"

Savari scowled in disgust. She had said Saadia's name at the start. The fact that he didn't care to remember that little detail meant that he really was a fool leading a band of thugs. He didn't even care enough to listen to the Khajiit when she spoke. He claimed that she had proven herself in combat, but clearly that didn't actually buy any respect from the man. She was beneath him; a fool to be manipulated, to be insulted, to be threatened into subservience.

Even has the realization struck her, Kematu basically admitted it directly to her face; "Did she appeal to your sense of honor? Your greed? A more... base need, perhaps?"

Savari's hackles shot up as he sneeringly implied, about as subtly as a brick thrown at her face, that the Khajiit had risked her own neck for the mere promise of sex.

Kematu either missed or ignored the Khajiit's outraged growl. He made no attempt to correct his bald insult, "It doesn't matter. No doubt she's convinced you that she's the victim. That we are… the 'bad guys,' so to speak."

Slowly the Khajiit wrestled down her anger, though her eyes had gone as cold as glacier ice, "You're nothing but a bunch of assassins."

"Assassins?" He almost... almost... managed to sound offended by the idea. "No, nothing so crass."

 _It's as if he thinks of himself as noble born or royalty. The high and mighty Kematu. Yet here he stands, in a filthy cave, hiding behind bandits._ Savari subtly glanced at the men around her. They were all at ease, staying in position but clearly not expecting trouble from the Khajiit.

Kematu continued, his voice pitched to sound friendly and persuasive. "As I said, she is wanted by the noble houses of Taneth for treason. We were hired to see her returned to Hammerfell for her crimes. You can help us with that, and make sure no one else gets hurt."

 _No one else? What did you do in town to get banned? What have you been doing to random women across the nation of Skyrim? What do you care about people getting hurt? You certainly didn't care about one of your own men; not enough to train them to be smart or to help them if they were in need. You didn't even care about who you hid behind at the back of a cave like the qojiit [coward] you are!_ There were many things Savari could have said out loud. A number of insults and questions about Kematu's heritage were among them. But no. She would keep to a blunt and direct response.

The Khajiit curled her lip and, with remarkable restraint, did not spit in the vile man's face, "I was hired to kill you, and that's what I intend to do."

Kematu looked annoyed, as though Savari had failed to follow a script he had expected her to stick to. "I'd hoped we could work something out, that you would see reason. That we could avoid having to kill you."

The bow was in Savari's hands, even as he spoke. His men were still reaching for their own weapons. "You had your chance to convince me, and instead, you chose to insult me. You're a liar and a coward, Kematu. It will be my pleasure to leave you to rot."

"Very well then. If that's the way you want to play it, we will." Kematu was still reaching for his own blade when Savari acted.

She spun, lithe as the cat her people so resembled, and rammed into the nearest Alik'r behind her with her shoulder, catching him by surprise and knocking him into his companion. The two fell down in a tangled heap and the Khajiit cracked the third across the face with her bow before diving into the tunnel and nocking an arrow.

Her time in tombs and among deadly traps had honed her skills to a fine blade's edge. She could make split second decisions, act swiftly and decisively, and take advantage of the barest claw snag of advantage. The men, though outnumbering her, were still not competent enough to expect Savari to be so swift, or so dangerous. Once again, they were not taking her seriously.

 _The 'best of the best' indeed._ She smirked. _With poor reactions like these, they wouldn't survive the first excursion into the simplest of ruins._

"Do not chide your enemy for his mistakes." Daryn's whispered voice rang in her ears, "Their foolishness is _your_ advantage."

She nodded briskly, even as her eyes burned painfully. It had been one of the first lessons he had given her. She pushed the painful memory aside for now, took aim, and loosed. Two more arrows followed.

The three arrows whirred out of the tunnel mouth, striking home in the two Alik'r who were still trying to recover from being knocked over. One of the men shouted in pain, clutching a shaft buried in his gut a heartbeat before the second struck him in the chest. The other Alik'r went down silently, the third arrowhead lodged in his left eye socket. Another of the Alikir charged, scimitar drawn. He went down with two arrows to the chest. One by one, they came, and one by one, all six of them fell.

By the time Kematu came for her, wielding a scimitar in each hand, Savari had run out of arrows and she was raising a shield to block his strike. As her shield arm shuddered under the blow, she whipped out a dagger and buried it in his side, the blade scraping against one of his ribs as it sank home.

The man screamed in pain, dropping the blade he held in that hand. "No more! I yield! I yield!" he cried, staggering back from the tunnel mouth and sinking to one knee, gasping. He reached to pull out the dagger still buried in his ribs.

Savari paused. Was it over? She doubted it. Nevertheless she stopped attacking and stepped back, watching Kematu warily. Carefully, she eased her mace out of the loop at her side. She wanted it in her hand... Just in case.

He pulled the dagger out and then raised his head to glare at her, hatred and venom on his face. "No… not like… this…" He surged to his feet and lunged for her, one scimitar thrust out in front of him in a last ditch charge.

Savari brought up her shield and deflected the blow. Steel rang as the scimitar struck the tunnel wall. "You're such a fool, Kematu," Savari snarled, and kicked him in the gut, the armored foot landing a blow close enough to the stab wound to send agony ripping through him. This time he fell onto his back.

"Mercy!' Kematu wheezed.

"No. We tried that already." Savari brought her mace down in a sweeping arc at his head.

As silence descended, save for the sound of falling water, the Khajiit slowly caught her breath. Grimly, she made her way down the ramp and began to wash the blood from her armor and fur. If she had been sore this morning, tonight would be worse. She wasn't sure she remembered what it felt like to move without aches and pains.

She checked their bodies, pocketing small, valuable things. None of Kematu's men, or even Kematu himself, bore an official writ or letter or paper designating their job. Nothing official marked them as being on a mission. As she had thought, Kematu's band was the farthest thing from an official team on official business as one could get. The next step down would probably involve a bandit who was staggeringly drunk and trying to rob a bush on the side of the road.

The trek back to town was slow. She made her way through the Bannered Mare to Saadia's room and found her sitting pensively at the little table.

"Any news of the Alik'r?" Saadia asked, then her eyes widened as she saw the battle weary expression on Saadia's face.

"The Alik'r won't trouble you anymore," Savari's voice sounded exhausted even to her own ears.

"Then it is over at last. I can rest safely." Saadia heaved a deep sigh. She thanked the Khajiit in a quiet voice and handed over a sack leaden with coins. "I managed to smuggle some of my wealth out of Hammerfell. Please, take it. I can build a new life without it."

Savari accepted the payment and then rented another room from Hulda. She sank into the bed, and then into a deep sleep.

Story note: the final nail in the coffin of my decision to save Iman/Saadia was that if you let Kematu have her, Saadia's remains will appear in Whiterun's Hall of the Dead.

Why? Kematu TOLD you that she's wanted, ALIVE, in Hammerfell to face justice. If she's in the Hall of the Dead, that likely means they didn't go to Hammerfell and Kematu straight up murdered her as soon as your back was turned.

Think about it... Why would a traitor be taken to Hammerfell, executed, then allowed to be brought all the way BACK to Skyrim to be placed in the Hall of the Dead? Wouldn't a traitor be more likely to be executed and buried in an unmarked grave in Hammerfell?

Unless this is a very poorly thought out game mechanic, the only logic you can come to in-cannon is that Kematu is lying about her betrayal, and Saadia was telling the truth about the Thalmor hiring them to silence her.


	4. A Horn And A Blade

A Horn And A Blade

Savari could feel her left eye twitching as she read the note at the bottom of Ustengrav. She was already peeved at the Greybeards for sending her on this little adventure, and being jerked around even more was putting her in a bad mood.

Not that she particularly minded traipsing through ruins... _that_ was what she did for a living. The danger involved and the cunning required were what made her feel alive.

But she had proven herself to be this… Dragonborn by Shouting for the Greybeards, absorbing new Words in the dragon tongue, and absorbing the knowledge. She was what they sought. She had jumped through the hoops. Jumping through yet another in order to get the horn from an ancient tomb irked her, not in the least because it meant she had to climb back **down** the damn mountain, retrieve the horn, then climb back **up** , give it to the Greybeards and then climb **down** yet again to resume her normal life.

And now? Someone else was in the mix, having taken the horn ahead of her and was now inviting the Khajiit to go off on another jaunt:

Dragonborn-

I need to speak to you. Urgently.

Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you.

-A friend

 _Friend. Of course. Because I'm going to immediately trust a note in a ruin leading me to an inn to wait._

The Khajiit was no fool. She had seen how half of the Draugr here had been killed already. It was basic adventuring knowledge to know that the ones in armor were the ones who would get up and walk around, with the ones who were naked or nearly so that would remain quiescent. Tucking the note away, she inspected the formerly walking dead a little more closely.

These Draugr had been killed by someone who was proficient with a sword and shield. The stab wounds were evident. Cautious probing about the torso and face revealed the caved in ribcages and crushed jawbones of one who had been brutally beaten off with a hard, blunt object… likely a shield.

Savari steepled her fingers, her claws making a sound like the clapping of clam shells against one another as she thoughtfully drummed them together. The Sleeping Giant Inn… Run by a woman named Delphine and a man named Orgnar. She had stopped in that building a time or two in the past…. with Daryn.

Right. Skyrim was a haven of places full of memories with her partner. She couldn't let those prevent her from doing what she must. But oh, it was hard. Swallowing a wince, Savari decided that she would scout first, then ask for the attic room later.

.

Savari ordered a hot meal as she entered the inn and sat by the fire to warm up. Riverwood was experiencing a miserably cold rain, complete with torrential downpours, flashes of lightning and crackling growls of thunder. No one was about and the inn was empty save for the two who were working in the building. Pretending to be wholly absorbed in her meal, she watched the two people out of the corners of her eyes.

"Orgnar." There was a long pause following Delphine's call. Impatiently, Delphine snapped, "Orgnar! Are you listening?"

Orgnar's lazy voice commented dryly; "Hard not to."

"The ale's going bad." There was another pause, then, even more impatiently, "Did you hear me?"

"Yep. Ale's going bad." The merchant leaned against the counter.

Delphine put her hands on her hips and regarded the man in exasperation. "I guess you don't have potatoes stuck in your ears after all. Just make sure we get a new batch soon."

Savari analyzed the conversation thoughtfully.

Orgnar was a slow spoken, very relaxed man. Not slow to imply stupidity, but just slow like a man used to spending most days doing minimal work. Nothing about him screamed "adventurer" or "fighter."

Delphine now… that woman was blade sharp; quick of thought and action. Savari had noted her insistence on swift response and immediate action; and her impatience with Orgnar's more casual mindset. Unless someone else was lurking outside, somehow listening for a quiet conversation through a closed Inn door, and through rain and thunder, or else hanging about in the rafters- a slow, almost bored sweep of her gaze upward showed that there was no one- then Delphine was the one.

Savari sat back and worked on her bread, alternating bites of cheese to flavor it. As she did so, she took stock of the woman.

Delphine was wearing a simple blue dress that had been poorly made; the stitches weren't concealed in the hems but instead were wide, and obvious. This dress had been made by someone with no knowledge of how to make clothes. And though the cloth covered her arms to hide any muscle tone she had, the woman moved like a fighter; always balanced, with a certain… careful economy of movement. Delphine's disguise stood out like a sore thumb to the Khajiit now that she was paying attention.

Yes, she could see how this woman could be the one who had taken the horn.

Savari approached her and asked for the attic room.

Delphine pretended puzzlement. "Attic room, eh? Well... we don't have an attic room, but you can have the room on the left. Make yourself at home."

The Khajiit waited for Delphine with an expression of annoyance on her face as the woman followed her into the small side room.

"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think you're looking for this." She put the horn in Savari's hands. "We need to talk. Follow me."

Savari's eyes narrowed slightly, but she obeyed; mostly because the woman had given back the horn without any further nonsense.

The woman walked across the main hall of the inn and into a far more spacious room with a wardrobe. That wardrobe turned out to be false, as the back opened to a set of stairs leading to an underground room.

"Now we can talk... The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right." Delphine was looking at Savari keenly.

"The Greybeards are right. I am Dragonborn." Savari crossed her arms and folded her ears back irritably. She was getting thoroughly tired of being questioned.

"I hope so. But you'll forgive me if I don't assume that something's true just because the Greybeards say so." At Savari's icy glower, she pointed out, "I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?"

Reluctantly her tail flicked to the right. The woman did have a point, though she wasn't convinced that the woman's motives were in the Dragonborn's best interests. "What do you want with me?"

"I didn't go to all this trouble on a whim. I needed to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap." Savari's eyes grew cold. "I am _**not**_ your enemy. I already gave you the horn." Delphine sounded slightly exasperated, but also a little alarmed at the look in the Khajiit's eyes.

"The fact that you gave the horn back as quickly as you did is why I haven't introduced your back to the wall with my claws at your throat," Savari's expression was not friendly. "I do not appreciate being jerked around, and I don't have patience for those who play games with me or want me to jump through hoops."

"I'm actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out." Delphine pleaded, and she looked a little frantic. "Like I said in my note, I've heard that you might be Dragonborn. I'm part of a group that's been looking for you... well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you anything else, I need to make sure I can trust you."

 _Divines, I miss Daryn. He always was more patient than I._ She sighed silently. _This woman hasn't even considered that I could just give her a taste of a Shout as proof. A proper 'Fus' would throw her across the room and she wouldn't be asking any more questions about my legitimacy as Dragonborn. Honestly…_ Out loud she said, "Why are you looking for a Dragonborn in the first place?"

"We remember what most don't, that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragon slayer. You're the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?"

Savari blinked. So this woman was well read about the subject at least. That would make her a valuable fount of information. The Khajiit's temper cooled rapidly at the thought of learning more about the way she acquired strange words and sucked power from the dragons she slew. The Greybeards were one source. Who was to say they were the only ones?

"I absorb some kind of power from dragons. That's all I can say." Savari admitted, as if reluctant.

"This is no time to play the reluctant hero. You either are, or aren't, Dragonborn." Delphine retorted impatiently.

Savari raised a brow. "Why? What, exactly, are you not telling me about… all of this?"

"Dragons aren't just coming back. They're coming back to life." Savari went cold, and didn't bother to hide her alarm. Delphine nodded, "They weren't gone somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now, something's happening to bring them back to life. I've visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty."

Savari's tail swayed thoughtfully, "I take it you've been mapping out which ones are full and which ones are empty?"

Delphine looked relieved that the Khajiit was paying attention, "Yes. I've figured out where the next one will come back to life. We're going to go there, and you're going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"A fair deal, then. Where are we headed?"

"Kynesgrove. There's an ancient dragon burial near there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it."

Kynesgrove... The first town Daryn had taken her to when he had taken her in. Where she had grieved at the loss of her parents. Where the kind Dunmer had taught her how to use her weapons...

The pair took the long run to Kynesgrove together. Sheepishly, Delphine admitted, "I'm glad you were willing to trust me. I know it probably wasn't the best way to introduce myself. But old habits...you know."

Savari grunted but didn't make any further comment. She would reserve further judgement until she had a better grasp on Delphine's character. Her paranoia was understandable considering her enemies were the Thalmor.

The approached the town just in time for a woman to come bolting down the hill toward them in terror. "No! You don't want to go up there! A dragon is attacking!"

"Where is this dragon?" Savari asked.

"It flew over the town and landed on the old dragon burial mound. I don't know what it's doing up there, but I'm not waiting around to find out!"

Delphine and Savari drew their weapons and jogged the rest of the way up the hill.

The black dragon from Helgen was circling above a low mound. Abruptly, he bellowed in a strange tongue, a tongue Savari understood; "Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!" ["Sahloknir, I bind your dragon spirit for eternity!"] Hin slen fent kos vokrii! [Your flesh shall be restored!] Slen tiid vo! ["Flesh Time Undo!"]

The earth exploded upward and a skeletal form surged up, shedding massive chunks of dirt from its regenerating hide. Flesh clothed the beast in a matter of a few heartbeats, and it tilted its head upward toward the black dragon.

Reverently, Sahloknir called, "Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?" ["Alduin, my lord! Has the time come to revive our ancient realm?"]

The black dragon, Alduin, replied, "Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir." ["Yes, Sahloknir, my Champion."]

Suddenly Alduin turned his head and stared at the Khajiit with blazing red eyes."Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi." ["So, you are Dragonborn? I see none of the dragonkind in you."]

Savari curled her lip at the dismissive way the beast referred to her. The expression was apparently too subtle, for he repeated in Cyrodilic, "You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah."

Turning back toward Sahloknir, who was watching with lazy interest, "Sahloknir, krii daar joorre." [Sahloknir, kill these mortals.]

Savari whipped her bow out and sighted along a daedric arrow as Alduin pulled back and turned away from the hilltop without a backward glance. The two pronged arrow flew straight and true, striking Alduin's flanks… only to bounce off his scales and drop to the ground some distance away. It hadn't even scratched his armor.

 _Well that was depressing_. Savari thought, diving behind a tree as Alduin soared into the distance and Sahloknir opened his jaws and unleashed a blast of flame at the Khajiit.

The battle with Sahloknir was long and difficult, but this dragon at least, eventually fell to Savari's arrows.

As the beast crashed to the ground, Delphine sounded excited and pleased, "I'll be damned, you did it! That was well done. Come on. I've been wanting a closer look at one of these buggers."

Savari followed the Breton with dry amusement, and once she got close enough, the beast's carcass suddenly lit in magical flames that rapidly consumed his newly regenerated flesh. Light swirled up from the carcass, gathered around the Khajiit and was absorbed.

"Gods above!" Delphine was struck nearly speechless, stuttering, "So you really are... It... it's true, isn't it? You really are Dragonborn. I owe you some answers, don't I? Go ahead. Whatever you want to know. Nothing held back."

Not bothering to hide her weary smirk of satisfaction at the Breton's acknowledgement of her identity, she began to question Delphine. She learned about the Blades, and the Thalmor… the damned Thalmor were cropping up yet again in the middle of things… and about how the Empire faced destruction at the Altmer's hands. Much of it she already knew, but it was good to hear her information confirmed.

She and Delphine parted ways, and the Khajiit returned to Whiterun.


	5. Discovering The Beast

Savari stayed in Whiterun for a few days as she stretched and gently exercised her bruised body back to some semblance of functionality. She had done battle with two dragons in less than a week, and both had left considerable marks on her body. She wasn't skilled in healing magic yet and even when healing potions took care of the worst of her injuries, her body still protested mightily to the beating it had taken.

Once she could get out of bed without feeling like she had offended the town brawler, she paid a visit to Jorrvaskr.

The Companions, as they called themselves, were essentially highly paid sell swords, but followed a code of honor. The money earned here would be secondary to the Khajiit; Savari knew how to make money adventuring in ruins and gathering items to sell. The important thing was to meet people. As an adventurer, making connections and helping people was just as beneficial as the loot.

However, the very first thing she witnessed upon entering Jorrvaskr was a fistfight between two members. Savari scowled. It wasn't exactly a glowing recommendation to see two idiots beating on each other.

Perhaps sharing her thoughts, one of them sighed in annoyance, "Are those two at it again?"

The other Companions were more eager, running over to shout encouragement and advice to the two young idiots swinging at one another with almost wild abandon. The smack of fist against flesh or fist against leather made Savari's ears flick. Observing briefly, Savari judged both to be inexperienced in handling themselves properly in hand-to-hand combat. She bet herself that she could leap among them and lay them both out flat before they even knew she was among them.

In battle you were supposed to be aware of your surroundings as well as your opponent, otherwise you were liable to fend off a dwarven centurion in front, only to be impaled on a swinging trap from behind.

Still, as easy as it would be to stun them both, she wasn't a Companion yet, and she didn't want to make a move that would probably be seen as dishonorable. As little as honor meant in some battles, in others, it was everything.

Savari was a Khajiit, and Khajiit knew how to tread lightly in almost all situations. This was definitely the time to tread lightly. This was definitely **not** the time to show off.

Savari watched only for a few more heartbeats, then turned away and explored the far end of the longhouse. The stairs she discovered led down to the living quarters, where she met a rugged looking warrior named Vilkas, and an older man named Kodlak Whitemane.

Savari introduced herself, dipping her head politely and removing her helmet so that they could know one another face to face. "I would like to join the Companions."

The gray warrior raised his eyebrows and amusement flickered at the corners of his mouth, "Would you now? Here, let me take a look at you."

He leaned forward and gazed into her eyes. She was a little startled to find herself meeting eyes that were as blue as her own. There was a keen intelligence behind his gaze that betrayed a clear mind and seasons upon seasons of knowledge and battle cunning. Should she enter a battle with Kodlak at her side, he would be the one she would take direction from.

The thought surprised her a little. Dayn had been her mentor, and once her skills surpassed his, he had been her only trusted second. To find herself so easily in favor of the old Nord was unexpected. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew there was no doubt that he could be trusted, no matter how heated the battle was.

"Hmm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit." He acknowledged finally, easing back more comfortably into his chair.

Vilkas and Kodlak spoke back and forth about the need for warriors and about fame, leaving the Dragonborn to watch and listen silently, absorbing the information that flowed to her ears.

Abruptly, Kodlak turned back to Savari. "How are you in a battle, girl?"

Several answers went through her mind, but most were too intimate or gave away too much information, so she simply replied, "I can handle myself."

"That may be so." Kodlak acknowledged. "This is Vilkas. He will test your arm."

Savari found she rather liked Vilkas. He was a good match in height and strength, though at first she hesitated. She fought to kill. Her strikes were usually in deadly earnest. If she was to be in the Companions, it would be bad form to harm one of them in what was supposed to be no more than a test of skill.

But Farkas reassured her, "Just take a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don't worry, I can take it." He ran her through her paces and gave a grunt of surprise and satisfaction when she finally knocked him down. "Not bad. Next time won't be so easy."

Savari's ears splayed good naturedly, "I could say the same, should the time come."

The next few days were easy… compared to the things she was used to doing on an adventure anyway. She did a few minor tasks for the Companions, even tolerating their nickname of 'Whelp,' with little more than an eye roll.

It wasn't until Dustman's Cairn that she saw the truth behind the Companions. Strangers bearing silver weapons ambushed Farkas as Savari stood helplessly behind the gate that had sealed her in the alcove. Rather than be concerned that he was outnumbered, Farkas had given a very inhuman growl and… changed!

The Khajiit stared as the man became a great, black werewolf. Farkas lashed out, almost casually with a clawed paw and struck down two of the Silver Hand in a single swipe. Another lash smashed the Orc and sent him flying. The Orsimer hit the ground somewhere in the far shadows and did not move again. He whipped back around and delivered the final two blows that took down the rest of the warriors. It took almost no effort; his claws rending them so efficiently that he didn't even need to use his fangs.

The beast that Farkas had become turned and trotted out of Savari's line of sight. Seconds later, the door to her prison lifted and Farcas came back to meet her, once again human.

"I hope I didn't scare you," he commented mildly.

"What... was that?" Savari asked, more than a little dazed.

"It's a blessing given to some of us." Farkas explained, "We can be like wild beasts. Fearsome."

Savari digested this tidbit as Farkas explained that not everyone had the beast blood and that they should keep moving. The idea of becoming a werewolf had some appeal. Clearly Farkas had been in complete control of himself, which was more than could be said for the stories people shared about them.

She was silent as she returned to Jorrvaskr, thoughts weighing down her steps. Farkas returned ahead of her and led her to the back of the building. As the Companions saluted the Khajiit as one of their own, Savari chose to think carefully about what she had learned on this day.

The beast form had some appeal; power and speed combined with what was clearly a fearsome sight coming out of any shadow. But choosing to take such a shape had to have downsides, not in the least of which included terror from civilians and aggression from guards, should she be spotted in that form.


	6. Cruelty Of The Elves

Savari left Whiterun to head to Sleeping Tree Camp. A bounty letter from Jarl Balgruuf said that a giant was harassing travelers. It was a simple task that Savari was taking up, simply to get out of town to think. In no particular hurry, she followed the road to the west of Whiterun, then followed the road southwest after passing Fort Greymoor. She was right in the middle of nowhere when she nearly bumped noses with three Altmer wearing elven armor.

"This doesn't concern you, 'citizen.' " one of them snarled.

"Whoa, I'm just a traveler. I don't even know who you are." Savari held up her hands appeasingly.

A swift appraisal revealed that two were warriors and one was a mage. Savari was less concerned by the warriors than the mage, and kept an eye on her as she scowled and closed in with all the purpose of a stalking Sabrecat. She could feel their suspicious hostility as they eyed her.

"I am a Thalmor Justiciar on important business that you are interfering with." One warrior snapped.

 _The Thalmor? These Altmer are part of the Thalmor? Divines, of all the rotten luck._ "My apologies honored one," Savari said smoothly, "I was unaware of your status."

"Next time, you will know that we are special envoys of the Aldmeri Dominion, the rightful rulers of Tamriel. If you'd like I can show you why." A superior sneer followed the statement, his fingers flexing by his weapon despite Savari's still appeasingly raised hands.

"What brings you all the way to Skyrim?" Savari deflected the conversation to what she hoped was a safer topic.

The Justicar gave a haughty toss of his head. "We're making sure your Emperor wasn't lying to his elven masters when he agreed the Empire would give up false gods and foolish beliefs."

 _Elven masters?!_ Savari's eyes narrowed fractionally. _Foolish beliefs? What nonsense is this? No race has the right to rule over another, much less enslave them! And only a fool tries to quell belief... It just drives it underground. Anyone with an iota of common sense understands that._

"Do all Thalmor have such high opinions of themselves?" Irritation crept into Savari's voice, and she crossed her arms, no longer interested in keeping peace.

"That we are superior to men is an established fact." The Justicar thrust his chest out and stuck his nose in the air slightly. "More so over the beasts that walk upright."

Savari gave a low growl in her throat, her tail lashing furiously.

The Justicar ignored the growl and continued, "For example, take this belief in Talos. The 'ninth' Divine. Heh. Certainly you don't believe such things?"

Though his smirk didn't leave his face, there was something fanatical and eager in his eyes that made Savari casually uncross her arms and ease her hand to the handle of her mace.

"What's wrong with worshipping Talos? A visit to any of his shrines will give a worshipper a real blessing. That proves that he is, in fact, a Divine." Savari's fingers wrapped subtly around the handle. She knew she was goading the Justicar, and she no longer cared.

The Justicar somehow managed to look both disgusted by her supposed ignorance and triumphant that he had found a reason to kill someone, "Incorrect. You can worship whatever gods you like. But Talos was, and is, only a man. The 'blessing' is an illusion. Only a heretic would think otherwise... And so, you will die a heretic's death."

Savari's mace was cleared of its holder before the Thalmor could draw his blade. A swift, savage blow snapped the Justicar's neck. The body was still slumping to the ground as the Khajiit spun toward the mage.

There was scant cover here; the nearest tree was too far away to dive behind, and none of the rocks were high enough to use as a barrier for the mage's spells. This meant that she had to fight in the open, and in turn, act quickly to keep the remaining two Thalmor from landing too many strikes.

A fireball flew wide even as Savari swung her mace at his head. Blood sprayed, but most of the damage was deflected by the mage's ward. What should have been a fatal blow only resulted in stunning the Thalmor Justiciar.

"On your knees, worm!" shrieked the second warrior, and she whipped around to parry the other Thalmor's sword strike, as he lunged at her from behind.

Sparks flew from the two weapons as Savari pressed forward, her sharp fangs bared in the warrior's face. A tiny lunge, and she could rip his face off with her fangs. A brutal, animalistic move, to be sure: but one she would not dismiss. In a fight to the death, honor took second place.

"The Justiciars know your face. And we elves have long memories." The warrior snarled, glaring into the blue eyes that burned with cold, blue fire, scant inches from his own.

Savari's knee surged upward between the Thalmor's legs and connected brutally to something very sensitive, and very personal, to men.

His breath wheezed out and he collapsed, clutching himself.

"Knowing my face only counts if one of you lives to tell the tale to someone else." Savari replied, and swung her mace with brutal efficiency.

Two Thalmor down. One left.

Savari staggered, body twitching as electricity danced over her armor, shocking the Khajiit wherever there was bare flesh. The mage had finally recovered enough to attack.

The mage gave her the briefest respite as she charged up her next spell, and the Khajiit took the opportunity to whip her dagger out and throw it.

The Thalmor mage screamed and crumpled to the ground, the dagger buried in her left knee.

 _I used to be a Thalmor Justicar, bringing justice to the land, until I took a dagger to the knee._ The thought was filled with dark humor, and curled her lips into a feral grin.

"No!" Gasped the mage, golden light swirling around her as she tugged the dagger free of her knee and healed herself. "You are but a dog, and I am your master!"

Savari drew her bow and nocked a Daedric arrow, sighting the mage's throat with the pair of pincer-like barbs that tipped the weapon. "Correction. I am a cat, and I call no one 'Master.' "

The arrow made a nasty whistling sound as it flew the distance between them. The impact was less of a thud and more of a wet, tearing sound. As the mage slumped with a gurgling gasp, Savari cast a quick glance around to make sure there were no more enemies lurking about. It would just be a cap on the day if she were to win against three Thalmor, only to fall prey to a bear or wolf.

Once satisfied that the area was clear, Savari breathed herself down to a calmer state before checking the bodies for valuables.

She had learned a valuable lesson today: the Empire wasn't her true enemy. General Tullius had earned Savari's hatred; it was one of his own lackeys who had ordered Daryn's death and her own attempted execution, and he had stood by and allowed it to happen. He had heard that she and Daryn weren't on the list of criminals. He could have stopped the execution; could have ordered imprisonment until things were sorted and questions asked. He had chosen not to, and his casual disregard for the lives of innocents branded him as no better than a bandit in Savari's mind. She would never join the Empire's Legion: that much was certain.

But she could not blame the Empire as a whole for the actions of a single general, and in truth, it was the Thalmor who truly held the reins of oppression and injustice. It was the Thalmor who needed to be wiped from the face of the world. The Thalmor… the supremacists… were the true enemies of Skyrim, and to the Empire as a whole.

Now that Savari had a better picture of how things stood, she needed a final piece of the puzzle... She needed to see how things stood for the Stormcloaks.

She slew the giant at the Sleeping Tree Camp with a few well placed arrows from afar, then returned for the bounty. Satisfied that the pay was sufficient for her needs, she bought some supplies and left for Windhelm.

Ulfric Stormcloak: leader of the rebellion. What kind of man would he be? There was only one way to truly find out.


	7. Civil War Neutrality

Her first introduction to Windhelm's people involved a pair of Nords snarling insults and accusations at a Dunmer woman named Suvaris. The Thalmor had put Savari in a foul mood, so seeing more bigots trying to stir up trouble did nothing to calm her down.

Savari stepped to one side of the gates and eased up behind, and a little beside the woman as she fervently denied being an Imperial spy. Savari's hands fisted. Words were one thing, but if these men attacked her, the guards wouldn't get the chance to quell the fight; Savari would do so herself; by knocking heads together if necessary. It would be cathartic, really, to introduce one hard head to another to see which was softer.

Fortunately the presence of two guards turned out to be enough of a deterrent to violence in the open, though the men suggested that they 'might' pay her a visit during the night as they stomped off.

Suvaris sighed, then turned a wary look at the Khajiit. "Do you hate the dark elves? Are you here to bully us and tell us to leave?"

Savari made a face. "Absolutely not. I don't hate Dunmer. I was very close to one before… I lost him."

Suvaris' expression softened at the pain in the Dragonborn's eyes, "You've come to the wrong city, then. Windhelm's a haven of prejudice and narrow thinking, unworthy of one such as you."

"No." Savari's tail lashed to the left as she put a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder. "Windhelm's attitudes are unworthy for one such as _you_. You should not have to swallow their words of hatred based solely on your being a different race."

"Hmph." Suvaris grunted, "Unfortunately there's nothing new there. Most of the Nords living in Windhelm don't care much for us, but Rolff is the worst by far. He likes to get drunk and walk around the Gray Quarter yelling insults at us in the small hours of the morning. A real charmer, that one."

Savari grimaced. That the people were so open about their prejudices and harassing other races didn't bode well for Ulfric. Either he shared their views, or he was too busy waging his uprising to care for the other people in his city. Active encouragement, or preoccupied neglect. Savari didn't know which was worse.

The Dragonborn entered the Palace of Kings in time to hear Jarl Ulfric and his right hand man, Galmar Stone-Fist discussing putting pressure on Jarl Balgruuf. Galmar stated that Balgruuf was either 'with us or against us.' The black and white views of the bearskin-wearing Nord was concerning to Savari. There was no room in the warrior's mind for anything else.

As she walked the length of the hall, the conversation turned to the reasons for fighting the Empire. Galmar growled that he would die before elves were allowed to dictate the lives of men.

Ulfric retorted sharply, "I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil! I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breath. I fight for we few who _did_ come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing! I fight... because I must."

Savari's lungs abruptly felt as though they were being squeezed and she paused to lean against the wall as she struggled to bring her emotions under control. _Ulfric, consider yourself lucky that you were able to hold your brothers-in-arms at all. Some of us never got that chance._

The pain seared all the hotter as she was reminded again that none of Daryn's things could be recovered. She had no memento of his, save memories that were both as intangible as smoke, and as painful as a real blade in her chest. That pain was still capable of bringing real tears to her eyes.

She understood Ulfric's sentiments. She even agreed with them, to a point. But she did not agree with the direction of his anger. She understood that the Empire did what it had to do to continue to exist. Breaking the countries apart would only weaken the lands further, and the Empire needed to regroup, gather its strength and throw off the yoke of Altmer rule as one united front; not as smaller, divided lands. Jarl Ulfric's plan to separate from the Empire would result in a higher chance of Skyrim falling, with no allies to support it.

Though she didn't know politics very well, she knew plenty about adventuring! Adventuring had a high fatality rate. Most learned quickly that if they wanted to survive longer than a week, it was always better to go with someone experienced, who could teach you how to take care of yourself. Even more experienced ones, like Savari, understood that you were more likely to survive if you went in a group! Facing the Aldmeri Dominion couldn't be THAT different in some aspects at least. The Empire needed to be whole, and to use the sum of all its parts, just as an adventuring team needed to work _with_ one another, not just _alongside_ one another.

Savari spun and left the Palace of Kings without speaking to the Jarl. She had no doubt that Ulfric had reasons for wanting Skyrim separate. She bet they were even good ones, or at least understandable ones. But she could hear in his voice that he had no intention of backing down, and that his focus was similar to Galmar's - 'with us or against us.'

Returning to Whiterun and Dragonsreach, Savari paced the halls of the calmer, moderate Jarl as she tried to piece her thoughts together.

The lower floor quickly proved to be the wrong place for pacing, as Irileth's sharp eyes tracked the Khajiit every step of the way, despite being on good terms with both the Housecarl and the Jarl. It didn't help that Balgruuf's son, Nelkir, made caustic remarks about bootlicking whenever she walked within easy hearing distance. She had a strong desire to give the little brat a swift boot to the bottom for his attitude.

Muttering a few choice oaths in Dunmeri, -she could have sworn that Irileth snorted in amusement at her anatomically impossible descriptions- she swept up the stairs to the upper level and glowered without focus at the map of Skyrim, dotted with red and blue flags.

Normally, the map dominated the table, but today, something caught her eye and she turned her head slightly to look at it properly. It was a book… bound in simple leather; there was nothing to set it apart from many others like it. It was the title that dragged her eyes from their thoughts; "A Plea for Neutrality."

Hardly daring to hope, Savari picked up the book and flipped it open to the first page. The book spoke about how the civil war was nothing but brother fighting brother and how the innocent and the immigrants were the ones to suffer. It ended with a vow to refuse to join either side, and a personal note to a lady love to travel to Korvanjund.

The Khajiit drummed her claws on the table thoughtfully. The ruins weren't that far to the north of the city, and whatever item resided within those ancient walls might be worth investigating… assuming it hadn't been taken yet.

Glad to have a direction, Savari saluted Irileth and was soon on the road.

Korvanjund was… largely empty. There was evidence that a small band of bandits had made their temporary home at the entrance, but to all appearances, the Draugr had made short work of them. The Draugr themselves weren't much of a problem, though things got a bit busy when a number of them popped out of their tombs. She used up a good number of her health potions, but in the end, left the tomb carrying an ancient crown made from dragon teeth.

What would it mean to both sides of the war if the Dragonborn happened to be wearing it?

 _If they have something to yell about, I would be quite happy to Shout back._ The Khajiit smirked. _In fact, perhaps a bit of… tail tweaking is in order._

Ulfric sent her a letter via courier the following day after her return from the tomb. The speed of his message just might have had something to do with the grand telling of her adventure in Korvanjund -perhaps embellished somewhat- over a mug of Honningbrew mead in the Candlehearth hall.

With so many men loyal to Ulfric in Windhelm, and the habit of Nords to gather round anyone with a good story of danger and bravery, Ulfric was bound to hear the tale one way or another. A judicious Laas Yah Nir or two sent shivers down everyone's spines, and gave weight to her story as she pantomimed watching for Draugr after using the Aura Whisper. Placing the Jagged Crown triumphantly on her head after she proudly choreographed the final blow that felled Borgas, brought another round of drinks and a hearty cheer from her listeners.

The letter arrived just as she came down for breakfast the following morning:

Dragonborn,

I believe we have met before, briefly, in Helgen. I am glad to hear that you managed to survive. Not many can claim the same.

I am hosting a dinner this evening at the Palace of Kings. Food shall be served at 8 pm. I look forward to your presence, as I believe we have much to discuss.

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak

Savari's cool blue eyes narrowed to glittering slits. _Pretentious boar. Is he seriously just telling me to show up and assuming I will obey him? He didn't even offer me so much as an invitation between equals! We both use the Thu'um. He should at least respect me for that._

Her tail flicked and jerked, frequently darting to the left in disgust. He had watched Daryn get beheaded. He had seen Savari's soul laid bare, and had heard her wail of loss and grief as the axe had come down. Yet there wasn't a word of sorrow over having witnessed the loss of someone who had obviously been close to her.

 _Well no, of course not,_ she realized, _Daryn was a Dunmer. This city is quite clear on its stance toward non-humans. And he does nothing to discourage it._

The thought put a rush of ice through her veins, chilling her hot anger at his callous disregard and disrespect. Paying for her breakfast, Savari packed her bags swiftly.

The day was young. Young enough that she could get quite a few things done. She headed straight to the marketplace. A polite request to Oengul War-Anvil, and a handful of Septims to pay for the time she would be making use of his forge, was all she needed to get started.

She had the raw materials, stripped from the dragons she had slain, and she fully intended to make use of them. It took nearly half the day, but her new set of Dragonscale Armor was complete.

She entered the hall a little bit early for the meal, but most of the guests were already there. The milling crowd turned to face her when the door opened and boomed shut behind her. As the echoes of the closing door faded, there was a wave of silence, and then whispers filled the hall.

The Jagged Crown was perched on her head, fully visible to the room at large. But, as she had planned, it was not the most prominent of items. Decked from head to toe in dragon scales, the Dragonborn looked every inch a dragon slayer; the crown was reduced to little more than garnish. Though her weapons remained in their holders, there was no doubt in anyone's eyes that she was both powerful and dangerous.

 _I am not a cat to be crossed,_ her armor said.

She looked neither right nor left as she made her unhurried way to the far end of the room; her cool blue eyes were all for the man sitting on the throne. Well, less sitting and more… slouching. In this moment, Ulfric didn't look like a leader; he looked like a pretender.

 _If he is trying to give the impression of a bored teenager who had been told by mother and father that he has to go to a stuffy event, then he is succeeding with flying colors._ Savari kept the thoughts from her face and eyes. _Does he inspire Nordic songs about his slouch, or the way he props a bored chin on his palm? I'm sure they're quite inspiring to his fellow Nords._

The man watched her come, and she could see emotions and thoughts chasing back and forth across his face. If she was reading him correctly, her armor was making him reevaluate his arrogance from the letter. The flicker of embarrassment in his eyes mollified her anger a bit. However, the thoughtful and determined frown that he only partially succeeded in hiding behind his hand, told the Khajiit that he had a few thoughts that he wasn't yet letting go of.

She gave him a slight bow, a gesture between equals. "Greetings Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. I am Savari, the Last Dragonborn."

"Welcome, Dragonborn. Please, enjoy the festivities." Jarl Ulfric inclined his upper body slightly. She noted that he did not rise to his feet, nor did he clasp her hand in friendship. The snub did not escape her notice, though she pretended that it did.

As she mingled with the other guests, something she was not entirely comfortable with but made do, she was well aware that Ulfric was watching her. He spoke frequently to Galmar in tones too low to be overheard, but her ability to read people gave her enough information to guess. Galmar was earnest. Ulfric doubtful. She suspected that the Jarl was doing some rapid fire editing to his plans.

Plans which, of course, involved the Jagged Crown. She was no fool. She knew the crown was what he really wanted, though if he were smart, he would try to butter her up with grandiose tales of Skyrim's freedom in an effort to get her to join his cause. If he had any common sense -something she was not entirely sure he had- in his thick, Nord skull, he would see her as an asset at the very least.

Not that she was interested in being an asset to the man's foolhardy attempt to rule the land.

Jarl Ulfric finally called everyone to the table, gesturing for the Khajiit to join him at the head. He sat with Galmar at his right hand, and Savari at his left. Left hand seat… the position of a Thane, should a Thane be in attendance. Since no one looked particularly put out, Savari assumed that Ulfric didn't have a Thane.

A subtle, and interesting complement. Insult then compliment. It was a tactic often used to keep others off balance. It was mildly amusing to see him trying it on her.

As dinner was served, Savari ate heartily, but drank sparingly. Although she enjoyed the occasional mead or brandy, she wanted all of her wits about her tonight.

Conversations were cheerful and lighthearted; sharing stories of the past. Perhaps only Ulfric and Galmar noticed that while she listened attentively and replied enthusiastically to others about their own stories and tales, she kept her own counsel more often than not.

This thought was confirmed when Ulfric and Galmar shared a swift glance, and then Galmar rumbled in his deep voice, "Tell me, Dragonborn…. How did you come by that crown?"

 _Subtle._ Savari snickered to herself. _Subtle like an anvil to the face._

The table went silent with a speed that said that most everyone here wanted to hear it from the source.

Letting a fierce grin pull at her whiskers, Savari launched into the story, giving plenty of details of battling the Draugr and dodging the deadly traps. As she recounted striking down Borgas and taking the crown, her story was hailed with hearty cheers and an enthusiastic toast from her audience. As usual for Nords, it was the tale that made the crown special, far more than the fact that it was an ancient artifact.

The party slowly wound down, and many of the guests staggered out into the cold night, warmed by spirits and good food.

Once the crowd was down to a few stragglers, Savari approached the Jarl as though to bid him good night.

"Savari, before you go, I would like to speak to you. Privately." Ulfric spoke before Savari could get a single word out.

Savari favored him with a slow blink, then gave her head a tiny dip and flicked her tail to the right in acknowledgement. Idly, she wondered if punching him in the jaw would be worth the response of the guards. It would certainly be a release from the cold simmering anger at the way he still seemed to treat her as someone he could give orders to and could expect them to be obeyed. She had a brief,childish urge to spin on her heel and walk out, just to defy him.

Ulfric, to his credit, did not make her wait too long; he gestured her into a side room, largely dominated by a map that was identical to Balgruuf's.

"I'll get straight to the point." Ulfric put his hands on either side of the map and leaned slightly over it while looking across the table at her.

For a moment, she had the ridiculous impression that Ulfric was like a dragon crouching over something of value. Which was silly, of course; dragons had no interest in mortal wealth. But he had that subtle suggestion of the danger and aggression, even at rest, of a wild beast. Coupling that with a kind of possessiveness to a map that spanned the width and breadth of Skyrim, he did resemble the domineering and controlling mindset of Alduin's lackeys. The realization made her a little cold inside.

"Dragonborn, I want you to join my army."

Savari held back a burst of scathing laughter with an effort of will. _Not a 'please' or an actual request in sight. Just a straightforward statement, bordering on a command to obey. I_ _ **had**_ _hoped that my status had risen in his eyes, but it seems not to be the case._

Daryn would have known what it meant when her whiskers abruptly pressed themselves flat along her muzzle and jawline, but Ulfric didn't seem to notice them, or if he did, did not understand. "Join… your army?" Savari allowed doubt to slide into her voice, much as she sometimes did while haggling over the quality of an item at a booth in the marketplace.

"You are the Last Dragonborn. Your name has power among the Nords. You stand before me as a powerful symbol to the nation, and many would flock to your banner simply for what you are." Ulfric's eyes were gleaming with something akin to greed, and that same possessiveness in straddling the map, was now aimed directly at the Khajiit. It set the fur on her shoulders prickling as that gaze traveled over the dragonscale armor she was currently wearing, before coming to a stop solidly on the Jagged Crown.

"And the fact that I am a Khajiit? What of that?" She queried, her voice low and steady.

"You are the Last Dragonborn," Ulfric repeated, "Your race is… inconsequential." If he noticed the way her eyes narrowed slightly, he did not comment on it. "You were given your powers directly from Akatosh. I do not think you can receive a higher recommendation than that."

 _And the Gray Quarter? The abuse your people heap upon non-humans? Do you think me so blind that I cannot see that all I am is a singular exception to a rule? You will only use me like a weapon of war, for_ **your** _war, to use against the 'enemy' you have chosen to fight. And afterward? What use does a man have for a weapon once it has served its purpose?_

Savari took a slow breath, "Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, are you aware that Alduin, the World Eater has returned? The war you fight has brought him back. While your men throw themselves against the Empire, they die by the hundreds, if not thousands. Every soul that ascends to Sovngarde only serves to make the soul devouring dragon stronger."

She saw a flicker in his eyes, an unease and horror that was there and gone again in an instant. "Alduin is still flying around, resurrecting his followers. Our people in Sovngarde are safe enough for now."

"You cannot possibly know that," Savari growled, "That black dragon can pass through the barrier between worlds whenever he chooses. Who's to say he doesn't fly back and forth, faster than a horse can run, to devour souls in between bringing more of his kind back from the dead?"

"Dragonborn, you speak of things that happen beyond the planes where mortals can go. The war is here; _now_. There are Thalmor dragging people from their homes as we speak. We must throw off the yoke of elven rule, or they will be sending good Nords to Sonvgarde by the hundreds anyway." Jarl Ulfric looked impatient by the direction of the conversation. "I need you to help Skyrim gain her freedom."

Savari pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly, "Reports say that the scattering of people being taken are confirmed Stormcloaks. Ulfric, you need to listen to me. Your movement is what is causing the problem. They are taking _your_ supporters; the people who yell the loudest about Talos. No one actually cared much about the Talos worship until you started stirring things up. The Empire could have regained its strength, paid lip service to the Altmer, and then thrown off the yoke at a later date when it had recovered. Because _**you**_ stirred things up, the Thalmor are on a manhunt…. and the Empire is forced to help them. _**You**_ made things worse for everyone. And now? It's obvious that you don't need me. You don't even want me, save as a chess piece. You want the Jagged Crown."

The Nord flinched. It was a tiny one, but the Khajiit's eyes caught the subtle movement.

Savari turned to walk out of the side room that Ulfric had led her to. "The crown is not on the table for negotiations. And quite honestly, neither am I."

She caught movement in her peripheral vision and her dagger was in her hand, pointing at Galmar's right eye. "Galmar, ahziss shurh'do rakiit [my brave warrior], I respect you for your loyalty to the Jarl. And I can even respect that you would be willing to risk your life to take the crown by force. But I have destroyed even dwarven centurions in battle." _With Daryn's help,_ she added silently. "Take some kindly advice…. Bandits? Violent thieves? They tend to be a bit of a trigger for me."

She turned slightly and met the bearskin wearing warrior's gaze with icy savagery. There was no give. No compromise. If Ulfric's second made the attempt, she would not hesitate to paint the room with the man's blood. And she let him see that fact.

Though his expression did not change, she saw his throat work as he swallowed, a split second before he backed off a few steps.

"Good man." She turned back to Ulfric, who stood glowering at her from across the map. "You do not wish to hear this. I understand. I have had to come to terms with some very hard truths too. But I am not a bow to be strung and fired at some enemy until I break or until thousands lay at my feet. I will not be used as a figurehead for a civil war that only serves to make things worse for everyone. And I will not legitimize your claim to the position of High King by simply handing over a prize that I claimed through long, hard, and dangerous work that was ultimately mine, and mine alone."

She strode out of the side room, turning to smile briefly and bid good night to the few remaining guests in the hall. The sound of Ulfric's boots pursued her and she spun to face him, light and quick, with her mace in her hand. He had a sword in his own.

Gasps from the guests brought all attention in the room on the pair as they faced one another.

"Don't do it, Ulfric." Savari's voice was low, but carried well in the silence that had fallen in the hall. "Challenge me, and I will not hold back. We will fight in a proper duel, and I will do my utmost to kill you. And as with 'proper Nord tradition," killing you in a duel makes me the victor, with no one allowed to arrest me. I am not King Torygg."

She watched his knuckles tighten on the sword he gripped, his expression furious. "You call yourself Dragonborn, yet you do not use any Shouts. You show no taste for battle. Are you an imposter, Khajiit? Or merely a coward? You do not use the Thu'um, yet you parade about openly claiming yourself to be the Last Dragonborn. Prove yourself then! Show me that you can speak Words in the dragon tongue to back your claims!"

Savari favored him with a slow blink of disdain, gripping the reins of her fury with both hands. The cold anger at being ordered about had risen to a hotter flame at the man questioning everything from her birthright to her honor. And yet, even her hot temper recognized his words for the child's dare they were.

 _I will not strike the first blow,_ she told herself sharply. _Make him be the offender._ Out loud, she sneered, "Maybe your insults have value to someone who respects your opinion, Ulfric. However, _**I**_ do not hear insults. I hear farts. And we both know where farts come from."

She spun on her heel and strode for the double doors leading back to the streets of Windhelm. She got two steps. The sharp intake of breath behind her was her only warning. But it was enough.

"FUS RO DAH!" Ulfric Shouted behind her.

The Khajiit was ready, however, and braced herself. The concussion wave blasted along the long tables, sending food, plates, candlesticks and cutlery flying to the far ends of the room. Standing next to the tables, the wave clipped her and rocked her on her feet. Had she not been Dragonborn…. Had she not been created to withstand the unbridled fury of the dragon tongue... the power of the Shout would have lifted her bodily into the air and thrown her the length of the hall.

 _Well all right then. Challenge to a duel accepted._ A feral grin split her muzzle, baring every sharp, white fang in her head.

Since she hadn't walked far before Ulfric had unleashed his Thu'um, when she turned back to the Nord and Shouted back, he got the full brunt of it.

"ZUN HAAL VIIK!" The Disarming Shout ripped the sword from Ulfric's hands with enough force to pull all five of his fingers out of joint.

The blade went flying toward the back of the room. Dimly she heard metal strike the stone wall far behind the man, and closed in on him swiftly, that feral grin still on her face. Ulfric gasped in shock and pain, hunching over his wrenched fingers. He took a precious secord to pop the joints back into place, pain bleeding the anger from his face.

Savari drew her mace back to strike the final blow.

"Enough!" Suddenly Galmar Stone-Fist stood between the two combatants, a battle axe in his hands. She would have struck him down with the same savagery that she planned for Ulfric, but Stone-Fist was holding his axe defensively, not offensively.

Still, Savari's tail was lashing as she warned him, "Galmar, this is a battle you are not to interfere with. Get out of the way, or join Ulfric in the consequences of challenging the Dragonborn to a duel to the death."

"I am not challenging you Dragonborn. I merely ask that the duel be called off. We have much to do, and cannot afford to let hot tempers put ourselves into a position that we cannot come back from." The Nord's gruff voice was muted to a soft rumble.

This time Savari let the disdainful bark of scornful laughter burst from her mouth. "He struck the first blow. By your own people's battle rules, it's not over until one of us yields or is dead." But she took a slow, calming breath, "I have proven that I am Dragonborn. If he acknowledges that I am the true Dragonborn, AND agrees to put aside the civil war nonsense until Alduin is taken care of, then I will allow the duel to be resolved with no further violence."

"Civil war _**nonsense**_?!" Ulfric spit out in outrage.

Galmar turned to Ulfric, "She has not killed you yet Ulfric, but she has brought you a step away from Sovngarde, and that's far too close for my tastes. She also has many good points. The war can wait. Continue to press, and Alduin will be the only one who benefits in the end."

Ulfric straightened, giving the Khajiit a furious glare. She met it, and eventually the Nord was the one to drop his gaze. "Very well. You are the Dragonborn, and I acknowledge my defeat here. I will issue orders to my Stormcloaks that we will not make any further large moves against the Empire until Alduin is defeated. But know this: the delay is only temporary."

Savari dipped her head slightly and flicked her tail to the right in acknowledgement, before leaving the hall with quiet, cold dignity.

 _I suppose I could have called them up to discuss the crown in High Hrothgar,_ she thought wryly as the cold and the dark of night enveloped her. _I suspect making him walk the seven thousand steps again would have done wonders for his attitude…_

Savari was no fool. She would not stay in Windhelm tonight. Regardless of Ulfric's supposed honor, it was too much of a risk to sleep in the city where the Stormcloaks were at their strongest. It was far too likely that one of them would think to come for the crown anyway.

She stopped back at the Candlehearth Hall a final time, taking her still packed bags from the Inn's owner before quickly and quietly disappearing through the gates of the city.

The night was cold and clear, with the land well illuminated by Nirn's moons. Her boots hesitated for only a heartbeat before she turned west along the road. Kynesgrove was much, much closer to the south, but that was kind of the problem; it was too close to the city to risk it. Nightgate Inn was several hour's walk to the West. She would arrive rather late at night, but it would be safer and quieter.

.

Savari did not approach General Tullius; her emotions were still too raw to trust herself in his presence. She carried weapons, and it was all too likely that she would use them on the General. She also wasn't sure whether he would remember her, or whether he would think to try to put her to death again.

She was still mulling over the question of how to possibly handle Imperial interest in the crown when a courier caught up with her in Whiterun. "I've been looking for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver - your hands only."

At the Khajiit's raised eyebrow, he pulled out a letter and pressed it into her hands, "Legate Rikke paid a pretty sum to get this into your hands safely."

The Khajiit thanked him and pressed a few more coins into his hands in thanks, though he initially tried to decline.

Savari,

It has come to my attention that you have acquired the Jagged Crown, and that you have declined to side with the Stormcloaks. I have also heard whisperings that you and General Tullis have… met in less than friendly circumstances. I also suspect that your views of the Empire are less than stellar.

 _I could almost accuse Legate Rikke of having a Divine level gift of understatement,_ Savari thought dryly.

If you would find a safe place to put the crown where it will not be seen publicly, General Tullius will dismiss the rumors of the crown and the Empire will not try to relieve you of it. I wish you success in your dragon hunting endeavors, Last Dragonborn.

-Legate Rikke

Well! That was a much better deal than Savari had expected. Her respect for Rikke rose a few notches.

The Khajiit put the crown in a chest in Lakeview Manor's cellar and left it there.


	8. Innocence Lost

There were whispers at the inns about a young boy named Aventus Arentino seeking to call the Dark Brotherhood. The superstitious called him cursed. Other simply said he walked a dark path. It was a mixture of casual curiosity and a little concern at hearing about a child wanting someone dead, that drove her to tonight's excursion.

The Khajiit stood outside the boy's residence, her dark fur blending into the shadows. She wore basic leather armor, dyed black to help her remain unseen. After her little bout with Ulfric, she felt that discretion was more than warranted; it was a survival tactic.

When darkness fell after the patrolling guard's torchlight faded, Savari picked the lock and slipped soundlessly inside the building.

The door closed behind her with the faintest of clicks and she paused, perking her ears to catch the slightest sound.

She didn't need to: a young boy's voice clearly but wearily chanted, "Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."

 _Well that didn't sound like praise to Talos,_ came the wry thought.

Savari was no longer the awkward young Khajiit whose boots scuffed on the ground. She made no sound as she eased up the stairs and followed the boy's exhausted chanting through the house. She stopped abruptly and stared, still enveloped in shadows as she took in the scene.

The small room had been taken over by a circle of candles. Within the circle was a skeleton, and a hunk of flesh that looked very much like a heart. A boy knelt in this mess, wearily chanting and stabbing at another, much bigger hunk of flesh, that Savari couldn't quite identify, with a knife.

Finally the boy sat back a bit and wiped his brow, "I'm so tired... Please... How long must I do this? I keep praying, Night Mother. Why won't you answer me?"

The exhaustion in his voice tugged at the Khajiit as much as the half sobbed plea. Whoever the boy wanted killed, it was clearly desperation that drove him to this.

She chose this moment to step forward so that the candle light fell over her. Pitching her voice low and smooth, she said, "Aventus Arentino."

The boy jumped in surprise and spun around to face her. But the surprise vanished almost immediately, replaced by relief and triumph. "Finally! My prayers have been answered! You've come at last! I knew you would!"

She blinked. Her natural stealth made her scare the daylights out of people, even by accident. Many leaped away and clutched their chest in fright. Her cool blue eyes alone made people uneasy.

This boy looked as though he wanted to throw himself forward and hug her tightly.

As surprise stilled her tongue, the boy continued, "I did the Black Sacrament over and over. With the body and the… the things. And then you came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood."

Aventus could have been talking about a visit from a cherished relative; the joy in his voice was almost painful to listen to. Savari was stunned yet again when she saw what could only be tears glistening ever so faintly in the shadows cast over his face.

Awkwardly the Khajiit cleared her throat, "Yes, of course… the Black Sacrament…"

"It took so long… So very long." The boy's voice broke with exhaustion, but he took a deep breath and continued. "But now that you're here, you can accept my contract."

Savari's eyes narrowed slightly, and she knew they had gone even cooler than usual. "I have not accepted the contract yet, boy. Tell me who you want dead, and give me a good reason why."

The boy's eyes dropped and his voice wavered, this time with grief. "My mother, she... she died. I... I'm all alone now. So they sent me to that terrible orphanage in Riften. Honorhall." He spat the word the way some people spat the word 'skeever.' "The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind. But she's not kind. She's terrible. To all of us." There was real venom in his voice now, and anger burned where once tears had trembled. "So I ran away, and came home. And performed the Black Sacrament. Now you're here and you can kill Grelod the Kind!" Now, desperate hope had replaced the venom.

Savari thought, with mild amusement, that children could ride an emotional river with all kinds of rapids and twists and turns.

"Please hurry." Aventus pleaded, meeting Savari's eyes without flinching. "To be honest, I'm kind of lonely here. As much as I hated getting sent to Honorhall, I really miss my friends there."

She knelt before the boy, staring straight into his eyes, "Are you sure? Are you really sure that you want this to happen?"

Exhaustion still filled his gaze, but so did the desperate hope, "I've never been more sure about anything in my entire life. Someone like Grelod doesn't deserve to live one more day. She's a monster. But please, don't kill Constance Michel. She really is kind."

The Khajiit favored him with a slow blink and then nodded curtly. "You have done enough for now. Get some rest."

She slipped out of the house, checking to make sure no one saw her leave. Technically she had not actually accepted the contract. She had no intentions of killing anyone in cold blood based on the testimony of one person. That Aventus had obviously been doing this for a long time, exhausting himself, spoke volumes of his determination and what he felt was real need, did tend to lean the Khajiit in his favor, however.

That being said, she planned to scout out this... Honorhall Orphanage… and see for herself how terrible Grelod was.

Outside Windhelm, Savari changed into her elven armor. The stuff looked like polished gold, with an eye toward beauty in design as well as functionality. Looking well-to-do in Riften was a bit of a risk, but if she was going to go to an orphanage, a potential adopter needed to look like a successful person.

The town of Riften was a considerable trip to the south. It was a wonder the boy had made it safely back to his home alone. She supposed desperation did lend a certain amount of luck. And if the bones and the chunks of meat were any indication, the boy was also resourceful… how in Tamriel had he even gotten his hands on a human heart anyway? However he had done it, perhaps that too gave his request some weight.

.

Upon entering the building, Savari found herself coming in on a conversation. Slipping to the edge of the doorway, the Khajiit peered inside.

"Those who shirk their duties will get an extra beating. Do I make myself clear?" An elderly woman spat.

Savari's head jerked back, ears flattening. _**Extra**_ _beating?_! _What, is it a beating a day just on general principle, but more if they do something wrong?_

The children were gathered in a loose cluster and murmured in unison, "Yes, Grelod."

 _So that's Grelod._ Savari looked the old woman full in the face, taking in the pinched mouth and the bitterness in her eyes. The woman looked as though she cursed every day, from the moment she woke up to the moment she lay down to sleep.

"And one more thing! I will hear no more talk of adoptions! None of you riff-raff is getting adopted. Ever! Nobody needs you, nobody wants you. That my darlings, is why you are here. Why you will always be here, until the day you come of age, and get thrown into that wide, horrible world. Now, what do you all say?"

 _"Shut your howling screamer, you ugly old Hagraven?'_ Savari quipped silently, her lips curling into a sardonic smile. _Too bad they're kids, and don't have enough power to stand up to her_.

"We love you Grelod, thank you for your kindness," chorused the children, with a weary resignation.

"That's better. Now scurry off my little guttersnipes." The old woman sneered.

Disgust roiled in Savari's belly. Life was hard, true, and unfair. But it was the responsibility of the adults to show children the good things too. Her memories of her parents were kind, hopeful ones, before the bandits had taken them away. Even Daryn had helped the Khajiit find a place in the world where she could be happy, before she lost him. She could let that loss make her bitter, or she could remember the good, and cherish it for what it was.

The children obediently dispersed as the Khajiit reached down and squeezed the handle of her dagger, pretending she was physically restraining her temper. She could not lurk in this doorway for much longer. Someone would see her skulking, and probably have questions.

Still, she swept the room with a glance. Aside from the children and Grelod, there was another woman here; far younger, and much kinder of face. This must be Constance Michel… the one Aventus didn't want killed.

 _Well… Grelod IS the only one I was supposed to kill anyway, so it wasn't like she was ever in any danger._

After a moment of internal debate, Savari stepped into the open, removing her helmet so that they could see her face. Making herself fully visible did tend to fare better with others. And she wanted information.

A small hand gripped her arm almost immediately. She looked down in surprise, and a young boy in a green shirt stared back. "Please, lady. You got to get us out of here. Ever since Aventus left, Grelod's been even meaner than usual. I swear, she's going to kill one of us."

Savari opened her mouth, unsure of what to say in reply, but he was already releasing her and wandering away, putting on a slightly exaggerated veil of innocence. The Khajiit slowly closed her mouth and swallowed. It was clear that Aventus wasn't the only child with an adult's view of a hard world.

A glance around the room revealed the same dark cloud in every child's eyes. These children lived every day in the hopeless horror that Grelod cast over their young lives. And as she took in their physical state, a new kind of sick horror bled into her; they were all incredibly thin. They weren't being fed much, if anything, nutritious. In fact they looked to be on the edge of starvation.

After a moment, she approached Constance. "So was that a … typical interaction between Grelod and the children?"

Constance winced, "Oh dear, you overheard that? Well, sadly, yes. Even the townsfolk have taken to calling her 'Grelod the Kind.' Her very existence has become something of a running joke. Grelod runs this orphanage because she's old, and set in her ways, and doesn't know any other life."

 _So the most incompetent and unqualified person in the city got the job?_ Savari thought, tail lashing left in disgust. _Is that indicative of how this city is run? Jarl Laila Law-Giver, you are an incompetent twit._

The young woman saw the disgust on Savari's face and sighed. "These children need love, and comfort." Constance admitted, her eyes sad, "I try... But... I'm sorry, you should go. The children aren't up for adoption, and it's cruel to get their hopes up. Besides, Grelod hates... visitors."

Savari's tail flicked to the right. Information first. Killings later. She would leave peaceably, for now. She headed for the door and jumped when the old woman barked, "Constance!"

"Yes, Grelod?"

"Hroar's crying is keeping me up at night. I'll give you one chance to talk the tears out of him, or he's getting the belt." The old woman sounded disturbingly pleased by the thought.

' _The beatings will continue until morale improves,'_ Savari sneered to herself. _You have no business being in charge of yourself, much less children. Abusive people escalate. Hroar is right… One day she will kill one of those children, assuming one of them doesn't grab a kitchen knife and stab her first. Not that it would be any loss to society, but it may take too long for them to get the gumption._

"All right. I'll take care of it." Constance's weary voice was the last thing Savari heard before the door shut behind her.

The sun was setting and soon the town would be shrouded in darkness. There was no longer a question about _whether_ she would kill the old Hagraven, but _how_.

After some internal debate, Savari changed out of her elven armor and back into her black leather armor. Aside from serving as a disguise, it was lighter and more silent to move in. Her one concession was to don a daedric helmet. Other than the intimidating appearance, it would conceal her identity. She then paid a trip to Mistveil Keep and borrowed Wylandriah's Alchemy Lab to make a few invisibility potions.

She sat silently in the shadows until the streets were clear of everyone but the guards. Timing her entry, she entered the orphanage. It was a statement to how little Grelod the Kind cared for anyone's safety that the door was unlocked. She paused just before the door to the common room and listened intently. There was nothing but the soft snores of the children. A check confirmed that everyone was asleep.

It took mere minutes for her to find the room where Grelod was sleeping. She left the door to the room open behind her; Grelod's room was too small to hide in, even invisible, and her invisibility potion would wear off immediately if she did something like open the door to leave.

Savari growled, "Grelod."

The old woman jerked upright in her bed. Her eyes fell on the Dragonborn and her face twisted into a cold sneer. "What do you want?" the old woman snapped, "You have no business being in here."

Savari let a predatory smile cross her muzzle, baring her sharp teeth, though the woman couldn't see them within the helmet, "Oh but I do. I have a message to deliver, your ears only," she mocked. She moved a step closer, threateningly. "Aventus Arentino says hello."

"Arentino? Why that little bastard!" The old woman got to her feet and actually approached the Khajiit, sneering up into the eyeholes of her helmet. She jabbed Savari in the chest with a finger, punctuating every word. "You tell him I'm coming for him! And when I find him, it will be the beating of his miserable life!"

"I am not _**your**_ courrier, old woman, and you haven't paid me the coin to return your message. But I deliver unto you, a gift from the boy."

Grelod never saw the dagger in Savari's hand until she buried it in the old woman's heart.

The woman gave a strangled scream and collapsed.

 _Nchow,_ [Damn] she swore mentally in Dunmeri, _I should have gone for the throat. Messier but quieter. Ah well._

Swiftly, she popped the cork on the first invisibility potion and swallowed it in a single gulp before darting out of the old woman's room. She was half a heartbeat ahead of a crowd of children, who raced into the room, saw the dead old woman, and began cheering.

"Aventus really did it! He got the Dark Brotherhood to kill old Grelod!"

"We love you, Dark Brotherhood! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

One of the quieter children mused, "When Aventus escaped, Grelod got meaner than ever. I really thought she was going to kill one of us. Guess not!"

Constance was less enthusiastic, crying out in horror and trying to round up the children, terrified that the assassin might turn on the kids next. In the confusion of celebrating children and the frightened young woman, no one heard the front door to the orphanage shut quietly behind the Khajiit's tail. She downed the second invisibility potion and made her swift, silent way out of town. She changed back into her usual attire once she was on the road and strolled north into Whiterun as though everything was normal.

This time she didn't have to pick the lock to Aventus' home; the door was unlocked. The theory that he was eagerly waiting for her was confirmed when she saw the boy was pacing his living room. He turned sharply toward her as soon as she reached the top of the stairs, though she had made no sound.

"Well?" the boy asked eagerly, "Grelod the Kind. Is she… you know?"

"Grelod the Kind is dead," Savari informed him, dipping her head slightly in a small bow.

"Aha! I knew you could do it! I just knew it! I knew the Dark Brotherhood would save me!" Again, she had the impression that the child was a whisker's width from throwing his arms around her and hugging her tightly.

"Here." The boy pressed a silver plate into the Khajiit's hand, "I know we didn't discuss the cost of your services, but this should fetch you a nice price. And thank you. Thank you again."

"What will you do now?" she asked him, tucking the plate into her pack.

"I'll go back to the Orphanage in a while. I'll give them time to, you know... clean up the mess." Her whiskers twitched in amusement, and the boy continued, "When I grow up, I'm going to be an assassin. That way I can help lots of children, just like you."

"I don't wish to tell you what to do, Aventus, but I would encourage you to be open to other paths in life." Savari advised him, not unkindly, "Assassin work is about taking lives. Saving them is only incidental. Choose a career designed to save people, not to merely murder for the clink of a coin."

It was a small relief that the boy's face grew serious and he nodded solemnly. "So, a mercenary?"

Savari shook her head again, "You restrict yourself to professions that are already known. The world is a large place. Who is to say that you cannot create your own place, with your own name? Build a team designed specifically to rescue, to protect, to help. Special Planning And Rescue. S. P. A. R. isn't a bad name for a group, is it?"

The boy chuckled, "I kind of like that name. All right. I'll think about it."

Savari chuckled as well, "Good boy."


	9. With Friends Like These

The world was blurry again.

 _That's thrice now that I have woken up in this manner,_ Savari snarled to herself as she sat upright.

She had awakened in a bedroll rather than the inn where she had laid down, but it was, admittedly, a marginal improvement to the throbbing headaches she had gotten from being struck on the head.

But her nose was filled with the scent of blood. New, coppery blood; old, rotted blood. The smell puckered her nose, curled her lips and rolled her stomach a few times, so she chose to concentrate on the figure that was coming into focus right in front of her, rather than look around to see what kind of scene of massacre she was currently standing in.

Someone was sitting on a bookshelf near the ceiling, all but their eyes concealed. One leg was propped up on the top of the shelf, the other hung casually and carelessly over the edge, swinging gently. The stranger's pose spoke of calm confidence, and no concern at all for the potential danger that Savari could pose. Their armor was a mixture of black and red leather, and decorated with a scattering of straps and buckles.

The Khajiit was surprised to find that she was still armed. Her kidnapper hadn't even seen fit to remove a single weapon from the Khajiit's person. This alone struck a note of deep concern within her. This person, whoever he or she was, was confident enough in their skills to see no danger in an armed opponent. That spoke of either Sheogorath-level insanity and arrogance… or else the confidence born of immeasurable skill.

She was not keen to find out the hard way whether 'immeasurable skill' was part of the equation.

"Sleep well?" Two words, but spoken in a silky, amused tone of voice. Female, definitely female.

"Where am I? Who are you?" A growl reverberated in Savari's throat.

The woman was not intimidated by the menace in her voice. "For your second question, I am Astrid. As to your first… Does it matter? You're warm, dry… and very much alive. That's more than can be said for old Grelod. Hmm?"

The Khajiit went cold inside, though she didn't show it on her face. She arched a brow and tilted her head slightly, as if in mild curiosity. "You know about that?"

"Half of Skyrim knows." The woman replied airily, "Old hag gets butchered in her own Orphanage? Things like that tend to get around."

Savari's ears plastered themselves flat and she gave the woman her best icy glare.

"Oh but don't misunderstand. I'm not criticizing. It was a good kill. Old crone had it coming. And you saved a group of urchins to boot. But there is a slight… problem." The woman leaned forward ever so slightly to stare back into Savari's eyes, unflinching.

Savari blinked but only said, "A problem?" She could only see one direction for this conversation to go, but she chose to make the woman say the words.

"You see, that little Arentino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me... and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill… that you stole." This was the first note of recrimination in Astrid's voice. "A kill you must repay."

Savari's eyes narrowed fractionally, "You want me to murder someone else? Who?"

"Well now, funny you should ask." Astrid sounded amused and approving, and just a bit condescending: as though she were complimenting a child for figuring something out that was obvious to the 'grownups' in the room. "If you turn around, you would notice my guests. I've "collected" them from … well that's not really important." Astrid made a tiny wave of dismissal. "The here and now. That's what matters."

Savari didn't bother to take her eyes off of Astrid.

"You see, there's a contract out on one of them, and that person cannot leave this room alive. But… hmm… which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe. And admire."

 _Pfffeh, this roj-rian [she-dog] has a real twisted idea of entertainment._ The Khajiit scowled but remained silent.

It didn't take a genius to understand that Astrid would not have brought Savari into this… likely quite isolated shack… without having locked the only exit and stashed the key on her person. The adventurer knew that she would either have to kill Astrid… something she wasn't exactly keen on trying… or to play Astrid's sick little game.

"Am I to take your silence as acceptance?" There was a lazy, satisfied smile in the woman's voice. "Then you know where we stand. Make your kill, and we're square. Repayment of your debt is but a discreet knife thrust away."

Savari let out a breath and looked around for the first time. It was not reassuring. The interior of the building was filled with a few pieces of broken furniture. Blood was… everywhere. The walls, the floor and… yes a glance upward revealed that the ceiling had gotten some impressive sprays as well. It was a small comfort to see that the only bodies that were visible were still breathing.

Likely not for too much longer.

She eyed the line of people who knelt in front of the far wall, hands tied behind their backs and executioner hoods on their heads, and decided to go from left to right.

Fultheim was just a frightened sellsword who was in way out of his depth. There was no reason to harm the man that she could see; if anything, he was less deserving of trouble than Savari herself. Alea Quintus was brave, perhaps foolishly so. She tried to order Savari about despite being in no position to do so. Savari decided the woman was stupidly noisy and needed to learn when to mouth off and when to keep her council. But this too was no reason to kill the woman.

It wasn't until she spoke to the final hostage that things got... interesting.

He was a Khajiit, like herself, and he was far too calm about his situation. "Whoever this is, clearly we got off on the wrong foot. Ah, but no worries. This is not the first time I have been bagged and dragged."

A frown flickered across her muzzle and she got straight to the point, "Who are you?"

He seemed to be smiling from within the hood, "Ahhh... Vasha, at your service. Obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters."

 _Defiler of… he is a rapist?!_ Savari's ears snapped flat and her tail lashed back and forth. _No. He didn't say 'women.' He said..._ Something cold sank through the Khajiit's fur and crushed the breath from her lungs. She almost dropped to her knees as the realization struck home. H _e said defiler of_ _ **daughters**_ _. Emphasis placed on that one word. He... he puts his God's cursed hands on children!_

Tamriel was a harsh world, murder and theft were fairly commonplace. It was socially accepted that there were many ways a person could be killed or find themselves bereft of their valuables. Everyone from beggars to merchants to nobles knew that a bandit raid was a stroke of bad luck away. Even children went armed with at least a dagger as soon as they were old enough to hold one. Most people viewed killing another person with the same practicality as killing a wolf, and under the same guidelines of self defense.

But pedophiles? Even the Thalmor tended to draw lines at that. Torture and murder, yes. Raping children, no. Savari admitted that even most bandits preferred a clean kill or a case of smash and grab. Necromancers, while their mucking about with raising the dead was seen as disgusting and immoral by most of the populace, had only a very few among their number who sank so far as to spend "personal time" with the resurrected corpses. Children? Unheard of.

If she were to judge, Vasha was a creature sunk far below bandits, and even below most necromancers. That was… kind of impressive in its own horrible way. Unfortunately for Vasha, that impressiveness marked him for death faster than even Grelod.

She pulled air back into her lungs in a sharp, hungry gasp, tail tip vibrating and pupils contracted into obsidian needles in pools of blue so cold they could have competed with the Ice Form Shout.

Unaware of Savari's sudden and icy anger, Vasha asked, "Have you not heard of me? Perhaps I will have my people carve my name in your corpse, as a reminder."

 _By the Nine, he's as stupid as that Alik'r prisoner._ Pitching her voice silkily sweet, Savari asked, "Would someone pay to have you killed?"

Vasha seemed to think she had said something funny. "Me? Ha! Are you serious?"

Savari growled, the rumble rolling up from deep within her chest as she leaned forward and growled with open menace, "Answer me, or I'll paint this room with your blood!"

Vasha returned heat for heat, "Fool! Don't you get it? I live in the shadow of death every day. A knife in every doorway, a nocked arrow on every rooftop! If one of my enemies wouldn't pay to have me killed, I'd take it as a personal insult."

Slowly, Savari nodded. If anyone in this room was to be killed, she had no qualms about making Vasha the one.

But the Khajiit hostage wasn't done. With casual arrogance, he sneered, "Tell you what. You release me, and I promise my associates won't hunt you down like an animal and butcher you in the street. It's a win-win."

"My dear Vasha," Savari's voice was silkily sweet again, "You are in no position to make that claim, since I doubt your precious associates even know where you are. You are at my mercy, and I'm not feeling all that merciful toward you right now."

Vasha's voice was unconcerned, even dismissive, "You'll let me go. I know you will. This is all just part of the game we play."

Savari laughed. She laughed long, and she laughed loud. She was still laughing as her arrow flew forward and buried itself in Vasha's head within the executioner's hood. His dying scream was almost lost beneath her laughter.

The other two hostages reacted with alarm and demands for answers, as their personalities dictated. The silence that fell afterward was tense as a Sabrecat about to pounce.

Savari turned and walked back toward Astrid.

"The conniving Khajiit. Cat like that was sure to have enemies. It's no wonder you chose him."

Savari remained silent, staring impassively back at Astrid.

"Hmph. When most would speak, you listen. You think. You understand that the only thing that matters is you following my orders to kill."

Savari's tail lashed to the left, but she only said, "So… I'm free to go?"

"Of course. And you've repaid your debt, in full. Here's the key to the shack." Astrid gave a careless toss and Savari snatched the key out of the air with a deftness born from five years of catching things tossed to her by a trapped Daryn. "But why stop here? I say we take our relationship to the next level. I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my Family. The Dark Brotherhood."

Savari held up a hand, forestalling the assassin's next words. "I'm must decline."

"Oh?" Astrid drew out the word, sounding mildly amused, and a little surprised.

"I am an adventurer, and a fighter. I will even admit to thievery and murder. If I am to kill in cold blood, I want the reason to be greater than 'You made someone angry, and they paid me to off you, so you're dead.' I chose Vasha because of the three, he did things that were needlessly cruel, and bragged of the many enemies he made. What he did was done out of active malice, with intent to cause as much harm as possible while doing so. I am no shining example of morality. But it is not of my interest to kill solely because coin crosses my palm, and it is not in my interest to kill solely because you say so."

Astrid's casually swinging leg stilled. Savari had no idea what that meant, but she forced herself not to tremble. She continued, her voice calm as she walked to the door and unlocked it before swinging it wide to admit the smell of rotting vegetation and stagnant water. She caught a glance of a slightly foggy marsh outside before she turned back to Astrid.

"A small improvement to the smell of this place," Savari quipped, though she couldn't quite make herself smile at her own joke. Her guts were quivering at what she was about to say, but her tail swayed behind her like a snake that was raising its head from the ground and balancing. She would fight Astrid, to the death, if that was what her refusal brought about.

"I hold you no ill will, Astrid, for pressing me into killing Vasha. His death improved the quality of the population on this plane of existence. I will admit that I did steal your kill, so in fairness, my debt was all of my own making." She walked back toward the other two hostages slowly, and as casually as she could. Halfway between the open door and the remaining two people, she turned back toward the assassin.

Savari licked her lips and swallowed before taking a deep breath and looking the Dark Brotherhood assassin straight in the eyes, "But I wonder, idly, why you did not take the kill yourselves? The rumours of Arentino's Black Sacrament had spread across the land. He had been doing it for a long time. Everyone knew he wanted to speak to you. Yet neither you nor your associates did anything. How was it that a simple adventurer like myself was able to somehow one-up a band of professional assassins?"

Astrid stiffened and stared at the Khajiit with narrowed eyes.

"One would think… that you knew, but you just didn't think it worth your time. One would think you saw one Black Sacrament as lower priority than the others. One would think that my interference did not upset you because I stole your kill… but that I smirched your pride; doing what you and your associates did not see any value in doing until the option was... taken from you."

The silence stretched between them.

"As I said, I hold you no ill will, Astrid, but I respectfully request that you leave first… and that we walk our separate paths from now on."

"...Very well."

Savari waited until the assassin had easily hopped down from her perch and walked out into the sun before sagging against one of the few clean spots against a wall, pressing her palm to her chest and panting, amazed that she had survived criticizing a member of an assassin guild.

When she no longer felt as though her heart was going to pound its way out of her ribcage, she turned toward the other two hostages, still bound and hooded.

She wondered if Astrid had even noticed that the Khajiit had surreptitiously planted herself between the assassin and the two remaining hostages. Probably. It was also likely that she didn't care; the kill had been made, the other two were of no value, and had likely been taken with the same swift silence that Savari had. With no way to see who had taken them, it wasn't like they were much of a threat, considering the way the guards were stretched thin with the war and the dragons.

Savari drew her dagger and cut the caustic woman's bindings first.

Alea yanked her hood off and sneered at Savari. "Well it's about damn time. Capturing a woman from her home, keeping her bound like an animal. Ridiculous… I don't know who you are, or what's going on here, but you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Your overflowing well of gratitude at being spared a vicious and bloody death truly fills my heart with joy, ma'am." Savari was sure if her sarcasm were any thicker, it would flood out even the gore that coated this shack.

She moved to Fultheim, who was far more grateful. "Thank you! Thank you! I'll never speak of this to anyone, I promise!"

"I don't care whether or not you tell anyone about this. I am merely glad that it is over and that the two of you can go back to your lives. I don't think your attacker has any further interest in either of you anymore, but to be sure, I recommend you both find a way to keep your heads down for a while."

Alea made a disgusted sound and stormed out. Fultheim gave Savari a tremulous, relieved smile and left at a swift lope.

The last to leave, Savari left the key to the shack on top of the bookcase where Astrid had been sitting, shut the door behind her, and set off for the next adventure. Perhaps, she would accept the werewolf blessing from the Companions.

She felt a rather desperate need for something deadly and powerful at her disposal right now.


End file.
